Despertar

unless it was just a really mean practical joke

I TALKED TO JUNOT DIAZ ON THE PHONE.

Oh my God, oh my God. And I sounded like a total retard, and this was before rum even entered my night.

*

So: Aaron texted this afternoon, saying he was hanging out with Junot Diaz, Diaz being about to do a reading at Aaron's university (The injustice of which still just kills me, considering Oscar Wao remains one of hte most amazing things I've ever read and Aaron HASN'T EVEN READ IT, I could kill him), and were there any questions I wanted Aaron to ask?

A million, of course. There are a million questions I'd want Junot Diaz to answer, starting with How, exactly, do you find exactly the right words to convey every precise sentiment without tripping over yourself, every time, and, Considering I've never been a nerdy LOTR-obsessed Dominican boy from Jersey, how am I ever going to win a Pulitzer? But I wanted to keep it manageable, so I texted Aaron the first four questions I thought of: "Oh my god seriously? What does he look like? Is he gay? [Because I had a hunch, but you can't tell just by the picture on the back of the hardcover, obviously, and there are no clues anywhere online] How much did he have to research LOTR before Oscar Wao?"

My intention, of course, was that Aaron would realize the first two questions were for Aaron to answer, and I'm sure he did, but he asked Mr. Diaz instead, and he answered each of them. Which, I die all over again, just thinking about it, Aaron telling my ultimate hero I wanted to know whether he's gay.

BUT. Worse still, Aaron called, a little while later, and I might have known this was coming: He said "I asked Junot Diaz if he'd say hi to you, so here he is," and despite my sputtering protests (because I'm not worthy, obvi), he put me on the phone with the person I most want to be, who encapsulated my entire life philosophy and adolescent experience in one soul-searing fantasy ride of a Pulitzer-winning novel. God damn it.

My hatred and love for Aaron surging heavily, I told Mr. Diaz what a huge fan I am, that I think he's incredible and that I wish I had the job he does, and he said (and this is the best part of all of it, Aaron must not have told him my name, because he consistently called me darling in his Jerseyed-out hot-pepper accent) "Listen, darling, trust me on this, if you want my job, you have to have a second job to make sure it all works out."

I kept sputtering adoring things, and he countered all of them, saying blah blah law school that's amazing, et cetera, and I finally started getting that feeling I should end the conversation before the other party awkwardly did it for me, so I said, "Well, can you give me some condensible sound bite I can take with me?" And he said "Of course not, darling, just keep your fucking hard nose to the grind," and I said "Well that sounds like a sound bite to me," and he said "Of course it isn't, darling," and started fawning over some baby in his vicinity, and he passed the phone back to Aaron and we hung up.

And then I died the happiest possible death.