Title: Food for thought
Pairing: Fedor Ferorov /
Marcus Naslund
R
This is a work of fiction,
I am not making any claim to knowledge about the people's whose names I use in
this.
The Roadrunners are the
Oilers farm team, they moved to Toronto this year. (that is 2004, gone by 2005)
* ** *** * ** ***
My brother taught me the
way to write a post card is to have really big round writing, and to squeeze at
least two words along the side, so it looks like you have said more than you
have said. The last sentence should contain some variation on 'I miss you and
wish you were here.' That goes under the address.
From St Johns I sent him a
picture of the harbour, and on the card I wrote. "Everything here is
white. The ocean is frothy on top with foam, the snow on the hills is bright,
the snow on the streets is yellow. The tea here has a layer of cream across the
top. I doubt you would like it here." f
When you have an affair it
is helpful to think of yourself being a spy. You must consider what would
happen if your missives fell into enemy hands. You have to make up codes.
On the back of a picture of
Casa Loma I wrote; "Toronto has not exactly embraced The Roadrunners, they
will always be second best to big brother Leafs, I wonder what that feels like?
But I would not mind being traded here, it would be nice to live in a city
again. If I were sent here I would make a point of going to the CN Tower and
the hockey hall of fame. At some point, you and I could try the hotdogs."
f
Selecting postcards is a
science. You need to get something that is applicable to the recipient and
applicable to the area. It has to have some deeper meaning that just "you
were here" that connects sender-receiver-postcard in a triangle.
Unless you are in Philly,
then you should send a picture of a cheese steak. "Do you think the
expensive five star restaurants here have a gourmet cheese steak? Like the way
in Canada you can get gourmet Mac n' Cheese? I had that at Lobby, $60 for a
warm greasy bowl of truffles, cheese and tiny pasta. You order it just because
you can, to show you are rich. The dinner version of a Rolex watch. How much
have you spent on one person before? For just one meal?" f
I am sure I pass a lot of
Canada without noticing it through the windows of the bus. But I can't bring
myself to pay attention, everyone is talking, on cell-phones, on messenger, I
have my head down over another Tom Hanks DVD. I must miss humorous small town
parts of Canada without noticing.
On the back of a postcard
of the giant perogy in Glendon I say "some places will always be about
food. Places you remember because you had something exotic or just for the
first time. And you have to find the most unusual thing to have there. Like
dolphin burgers or fried crickets. In the north they eat whale blubber. I
wonder if it leaves your lips greasy? When you kiss each other afterwards, do
your lips slide all over the place? And leave kiss shaped marks all over your
faces? It would be better to take fruit out into the snow, by the time you got
to where you were going it would be frozen into sherbet." f
Good thing he has a post
office box. Some things just shouldn't be sent to someone's house. I don't
imagine he takes these home, or does anything besides skim them quickly in the
post office and then tear them into pieces and throw them into the garbage
containers they have for just this purpose at the post office.
"Quebec is really a
province that loves its junior teams. I played here for a couple of
tournaments.. They like to party afterwards here as well. The first time I ever
stayed up late enough to see the sunrise was in Quebec. Do you think it would
be romantic to stay up all night and enjoy dawn together? Takes a breakfast
picnic, or at least coffee, or could you think of a better thing to do as you lay
around and waited for dawn?" f
He never writes back, not
that I expect him to. I hate being ignored, it is worse than being yelled out.
Back in Russia in the summer I find a card of a man pulling palm trees in front
of Lenin's tomb.
"There is something about
eating caviar that makes me feel very Russian. There is a restaurant that over
looks Red Square, where they serve only vodka and caviar. And toast of course.
Rich men, most of them mafia or basically mafia take their mistresses to the
private club on the top floor. As you drink and eat you can feel the pulse of
red square travel up through the floorboards until your heart beats at the same
slow rhythm. There have been a number of heart attacks there, but everyone goes
back. Because it is the place to be seen, I think I would enjoy it if you took
me there, or I took you. Screens divide the tables, and it is very
private." f
Postcards can only ever be
a slice of what you are thinking and feeling. And you always have to censor
them a bit in case someone spots his last name and decides to read a bit. I have tried to make them interesting and avoid
clichˇs, and it has been fun to view this year as it would appear and appeal to
someone else. I sent him a final postcard of a dolphin leaping through a hoop at
sea world. "Wish you were here!" It says in orange friendly letters
on the front.
And on the back I write;
"Dear Markus, I will see you soon." f
End.
