Guys Like Me Read Free Page B

know.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go see for yourself? You aren’t far, are you?”
    I didn’t reply.
    He watched me put his résumé away in my briefcase, the briefcase of a man who was still whole. We both knew, maybe at the same time, how pointless it was, given his age. But then, when I read it again that evening, I wasn’t so sure.
    â€œWill one be enough?”
    We were both still standing there.
    â€œI’ll make copies.”
    He nodded. He showed me a flash drive he’d taken out of his pocket. It was red. That surprised me, coming from him, but after all why not? We were the generation of floppy disks in offices, and also of Atomkraft? Nein, danke! I suddenly remembered those little metal badges we carried on our school satchels and wore on the lapels of our jackets, bought from the flea market in Clignan-court or in fake American surplus stores. We all had them in high school. We’d walk along the streets of Asnières in our combat jackets covered with badges. He collected them, sometimes resold them, sometimes swapped them.
    â€œWell,” he said, “it was great to see you again, even if the circumstances could be better.”
    I couldn’t help smiling. “Shall we have a bite to eat one of these days?”
    He said yes, shall I call you or will you call me?
    I didn’t need to think too much, I said no, I’ll call you, no problem, we can meet next week.
    We shook hands before we left the bar. The young woman at the cash register said goodbye, her voice sounded dull and worn. Her hard features under her blonde hair, in a bar on Rue d’Amsterdam. He wasn’t sad or depressed, that time, any more than the following times. Most of the time, he kept in good spirits. He was born like that, in good spirits. What was he doing that evening? He shrugged, one hand holding the empty case and the other in the pocket of his raincoat, as if he could have stayed like that for years.
    â€œI’m going for a walk, I may catch a movie, now that I have the card.”
    He still had his boyish smile, he meant his unemployment card, stamped so that he could get discounts.
    â€œSo long, I’ll call you.”
    Then I walked down the street without turning around. Anyone seeing us together might have thought that two old friends had just had a drink, and that these moments stolen from everyday life (work, a wife, the children already flown the nest) had been a sliver of pleasure in their lives. I mean guys who’ve known each other for more than thirty years, yes, that’s it, much more than thirty years in fact. All things considered, I’d enjoyed seeing him again. Apart from that, I wasn’t sure what else to think.
    That evening, thanks to him, I went back home with an idea in my head, something important to do, I had to try to help him get work. If it was only up to me … That’s the kind of crap I’ve often told myself, since I’ve been alone and no woman has spent the night with me. I went through his résumé, trying to cross-check. If I could believe what I was reading, things had started to go wrong for him in 1997, which was already quite a while ago. What was going on in my life that year? I can remember people, events, sometimes I can remember very clearly conversations Benjamin and I had twenty years ago, I can even quote what he said word for word. But I get con-fused about dates. 1997, I really can’t remember what that year had been like for me. Jean had even worked abroad for a short time, in Germany, he knew the language, I remembered that. I thought about two or three people I could call, though I didn’t hold out much hope. For a few years now, all the guys like me have been putting together résumés and distributing them conscientiously, knowing there isn’t really any point. He runs into you suddenly, one way or another, the one who gives and the one who asks, and you never really know why