Dominique Fabre - Guys Like Me

“Now’s maybe not the time,” he said to us in a flat voice in the sunshine, “but I’d like to invite the two of you over for dinner.”

Marco smiled, yes, but when? He turned to me, sure that I’d be pleased. He looked toward the corner of the street. Right at the end, at the intersection with Boulevard Jules Ferry, where the trees had also been trimmed too close, only the big branches were left, and it was sad to look at them. It would stay sad all spring, for a few years. He seemed to think slowly, slowly like the long-term unemployed person he’d been these last few years.

“One day next week?”

Marco nodded and took out his personal organizer, let’s see. I could make it on Friday the 17th, how about you?

Yes, that suits me fine. Marie and I had settled on two nights a week, we were also going to spend some weekends together, when the weather got better. We’d talked about it, but I didn’t yet know when. All right then, he said to us. And suddenly, his face seemed to brighten up, what ordeals had he been through in all those years? He held out his hand. He almost dumped us there, Marco and me, just outside the metro station.

“He really has turned a little strange, hasn’t he?” Marc-André said. “Was he always like that?”

We almost laughed again.

“At least he’s got a job now.”

Marco nodded. “Well, they’ve extended his trial period. I had a call from Langinieux. I don’t know if he’ll be suitable.”

“Oh, really?”

He looked at his watch. We sat down again, on another bench; there was a dark sun in the depths of the shop windows, noises and shadows. We could have spent days on end on benches, him and me. It wasn’t so bad, when it came down to it. We said goodbye on the metro platform. Each of us got into his own subway car. He had to stay at the rear of the train in order to change at Gare Saint-Lazare. Me at the opposite end. Speak on the phone? Yes, bye! These days, I think about him almost every day. Sometimes we call each other at the same moment, and when that happens, he really is a guy like me, and me like him.

Time started up again. Benjamin invited me the following evening. There was lots of work at the office, they’d finished the balance sheets, so people were staying later, not that this changed the situation in any way. I dropped by the scooter store in Clichy-Levallois, they had some nice ones, I thought, I spent a while there. Let me know if you have any questions. The assistant was Ben’s age, or not far off. Sometimes, in all those years, it had been my ex-wife I carried behind me in my dreams, and my mother too, whom I hadn’t seen for a long time. Once, though, she took me gently in her arms at a red light. She was giving me the love that had always been denied me in my childhood, but, when the lights changed and I turned to look at her, she’d already disappeared … Benjamin was fine and so was Anaïs. They were becoming more and more visible, more and more apparent as a couple. I hadn’t talked with her very much, but we hadn’t been distant either. I kept talking about the scooter, they looked at each other two or three times, wondering what’s gotten into him? Benjamin was trying to keep a straight face. By the way, he had a job offer from a big lab in Zurich, it was well paid, much more than he could make here. Anaïs was quite pleased, although it wasn’t convenient for her. I listened without saying anything. But when I was leaving, he told me not to worry, they weren’t going forever! I didn’t understand right away. Later I did, but it was too late by then, near the metro station, where I was going to take my train home and it wouldn’t embarrass anybody if I cried, for no reason, just like that.

After all these years, he was still afraid to leave me on my own. The Seine was very full near the railroad bridge, it was a little oily, the lights spread out with the current, the lights from the towers of La Défense and the lights of the cars driving along the banks. My son. My ex-wife. Marco and the other guys like me. My mother so long ago, my father whom I’d barely known, which was probably why I could put him on my list. I’d enjoyed the evening, having dinner with them, knowing that he was going to leave but that Anaïs wanted to go with him and also knowing that around midnight that night, Marie would be coming back from the theater. She and her girlfriends had a subscription, I’d give her a call. We’d chat as long as we needed to, five minutes or an hour, I don’t know. It was good anyway. Guys like me don’t have any more to say to those who don’t really want to listen. But with those who are like them, they can talk for hours, they could just as easily keep quiet, I think. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Then the platform, in the direction of Pont de Levallois.

Marie hadn’t liked the play. She told me about her day. I remember where I was, near the glass doors leading into the living room. She wasn’t far from my place, as the crow flies. After Porte de Champerret, you had to turn left, it wasn’t so far. I bit my lips, I didn’t tell her about the funeral. I hadn’t wanted to tell her about the scooter, she’d said, oh yes, it’s a good idea, but it was no concern of hers. We hadn’t argued yet, maybe those hours on end behind computer screens had taught us more about each other than I imagined, but sometimes I thought she was on the verge of blowing a fuse. She told me off for being too attached to my past, my previous life, my friends, my years of marriage, I hadn’t gotten over it. I didn’t reply. What could I have found to tell her off about? Do you mind if I pull down the curtain? She read parts of me like a book, but after all, why not? Good night, Marie, and then I hung up. I’d also have to buy a scooter if I had another disappointment in love. That evening, I spent quite a lot of time on the computer, bicycle websites, I didn’t know which one to choose. I went back to the dating website after a while, she was online, which shocked me. I could have called her and asked her why? Friends, strangers like you. Life, often, finds it hard to be like us. I had his wife and daughter in my eyes that night. It was two in the morning, I went and took a shower. I barely recognized my face, who had I been before? It wouldn’t do me any harm to spend the evening at home the following day. I was exhausted. Worry lines that make you look like a thinker were one thing, but why those crow’s feet at the corners of the eyes and those first brown patches on the backs of my hands, yes, why?

“Well,” Marc-André said. “I didn’t know it was here. Did you remember?”

I wasn’t sure. Jean lived in one of the few places in La Garenne-Colombes that hadn’t yet changed, which meant it looked pretty decrepit. If you turned around, you couldn’t recognize the neighborhood at all, from there to Place de Belgique. We looked at each other and smiled. Jean had called me again the previous evening, this invitation seemed to be really important to him. I didn’t know what to expect. I was pleased to be going there, there are hundreds of pointless evenings in a life, this one though was different, plus to be going back to La Garenne-Colombes, which had been part of me since my teenage years. The first things I saw, entering his apartment, were the second-hand furniture and the linoleum in the kitchen, as if nothing had changed since our childhood. He had his weary look, he’d just taken a shower, that’s the impression I had. He shook our hands really firmly, like one of those salesmen who want to impress you and strike the fear of God into you without showing it.

He couldn’t stop thanking us, how nice of us to come, and it would have become embarrassing if we’d kept saying no, what was embarrassing was that we hadn’t yet had anything to drink. It was the end of April now. He lived on the ground floor facing the courtyard. He couldn’t stay there, it was a short-term lease. Through the half-open window a cat came and looked at us, and although he was carrying the ice tray he couldn’t stop himself from approaching the cat.