Junot Díaz
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (excerpt 6)
Anyway, I was home next week, no call from the temp agency, when Oscar buzzed me from the street. Hadn’t seen his ass in weeks, since the first days of his return. Jesus, Oscar, I said. Come up, come up. I waited for him in the hall and when he stepped out of the elevator I put the mitts on him. How are you, bro? I’m copacetic, he said. We sat down and I broke up a dutch while he filled me in. I’m going back to Don Bosco soon. Word? I said. Word, he said. His face was still fucked up, the left side a little droopy.
You wanna smoke?
I might partake. Just a little, though. I would not want to cloud my faculties.
That last day on our couch he looked like a man at peace with himself. A little distracted but at peace. I would tell Lola that night that it was because he’d finally decided to live, but the truth would turn out to be a little more complicated. You should have seen him. He was so thin, had lost all the weight was still, still.