Everyone Knows the Words

The lunch special had been rubbed off the diner’s board, leaving only the price. Near the restrooms, an old jukebox glowed behind cloudy glass. A man from the counter dropped in a quarter, pressed two buttons, and waited for the mechanism to stir.

The waitress stopped beside their booth.

“How are we doing?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Oliver said.

She filled their cups and went to collect a plate from the window.

SydCouldn’t?

OliverWhat?

SydBe better.

Oliver looked down at his coffee.

OliverI used to be able to do this.

SydEat lunch?

OliverTalk without hearing myself act.

The man returned to the counter. Behind him, a record began with a little hiss.

SydShe wasn’t asking for an account of your life.

OliverI know that. It’s the voice. I hear it come out and think, who is that for?

SydHer, presumably.

OliverYes, but I’ve got one for everybody. Warm voice. Serious voice. The voice that says I’m doing well but would never be so vulgar as to mention it.

SydI’ve heard that one.

OliverI’m sure you have.

SydNot lately. You’ve canceled twice.

OliverI haven’t been much company.

SydI was only asking you to eat.

OliverI’m here, aren’t I?

Syd didn’t answer.

OliverI went to that thing on Friday.

SydHow was it?

OliverCouldn’t have been better.

Syd waited.

OliverWe were talking about a friend’s essay. He wasn’t there. Everyone said they liked it. Brave, honest, all of that. Then an editor came over and said he thought it was a little thin. Within five minutes, people were explaining why they’d never thought much of it.

SydPerhaps he noticed something they hadn’t.

OliverHe said it was thin. That was the whole contribution. Someone who’d just called the ending brave started calling it self-indulgent.

SydThose aren’t necessarily opposites.

OliverI’m aware. But I had a sentence ready too. About how we’d mistaken confidence for depth.

SydDid you think that?

OliverI don’t know. I knew it would work.

The waitress set down their plates. Syd moved his cup to make room for his sandwich. Oliver lifted the toast off his eggs.

SydDid you say it?

OliverNo. I said I liked the ending.

SydAnd they let you live.

OliverSomeone nodded. We talked about something else. I wasn’t expecting them to kill me.

SydYou make it sound dangerous.

OliverNo. Easy. That’s what bothered me. I could have said it and gone on enjoying myself.

At the counter, the waitress called a regular “sweetheart,” then told him to move his newspaper because she wasn’t putting his soup on the sports page.

OliverNow I watch people watching each other. Who’s laughing. Who’s allowed to interrupt. After a while I can hardly hear what anyone is saying.

SydIncluding anyone you might like.

OliverI used to like all of them. I still want to. Then I hear that voice and I want to get out of the room.

SydHers?

OliverEverybody’s. Mine. I know she isn’t doing what they were doing.

SydShe’s glad to see him. She’d also like him to move his paper.

OliverI haven’t accused her of anything.

SydYou keep looking over there.

OliverShe keeps talking. It’s a diner.

Syd reached for the ketchup. It was nearly empty. He held it over his plate and waited.

SydIs this the Jung you’ve been reading?

OliverSome of it. The persona. The face you learn to wear around other people. I’m starting to wonder how much of my character is just knowing what people expect.

SydAnd now you don’t know?

OliverI still know. I can’t stop knowing. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing it.

SydDoing what? Being different with different people? You don’t talk to me the way you talk to your mother.

OliverNor should I. The problem is mistaking the part for the whole person. Individuation means becoming more fully yourself. That includes coming to terms with parts you don’t yet know. Not just the ones you’d choose.

SydDoes that mean the friendly part wasn’t you?

OliverNo. I’ve been generous. I’ve also agreed to things because I was afraid to say no. Then I resented people for expecting me to do them.

SydFrom their end, you said yes.

OliverI know. But now I’ll start to offer something and wonder whether I mean it. And by then I’ve missed whatever the person said next.

Syd tapped the bottle. It spat ketchup onto his cuff.

SydThere it is.

OliverWhat?

SydThe ketchup. Keep going.

Oliver passed him a napkin.

OliverI ought to know the difference between keeping something private and having no idea what I think until I know who’s asking.

SydI don’t see why you have to stay home to do it.

OliverBecause when I’m alone I can hear myself. I’m not waiting for someone to approve of every little thing. I don’t need ~

He stopped.

Syd looked up from his sleeve.

OliverI had a whole speech about this on the way over.

SydYou were doing well.

OliverThat’s what I wanted you to think.

Syd put the napkin down.

OliverI knew where you’d laugh. I even had your answer ready.

SydWas it a good one?

OliverIt let me keep talking.

A spatula scraped across the grill.

SydSo don’t give me the speech.

Oliver opened his mouth. Syd waited, then went back to his sandwich.

OliverI don’t know what to say now.

SydYou can eat. You haven’t touched those.

Oliver cut into his eggs.

OliverI wanted that editor to like me.

SydYou’d like to be published.

OliverIt wasn’t only that. I wanted him to think I was interesting. I wanted everyone there to think so. And when I left, I hoped somebody would notice I’d gone.

SydWell, I noticed.

OliverYou weren’t there.

SydNo. I mean here.

Oliver looked at him.

SydI don’t know what you want me to do. Keep asking? Leave you alone? I get a message saying next week, then next week comes and you’re busy again.

OliverI haven’t been busy.

SydI know.

The waitress came for the empty ketchup bottle. She looked at Syd’s sleeve, brought him a damp cloth, and took an order from the booth behind them.

OliverI thought you wouldn’t want to sit through this.

SydI might not. You could let me find out.

OliverYou could have asked whether I was avoiding you.

SydI was hoping you’d rule me out before I had to.

Oliver pushed his toast through the egg on his plate.

OliverI don’t want you to stop asking.

SydThen don’t keep putting me off.

They ate. At the counter, the regular laid his newspaper across an empty stool. The waitress took it off so a woman could sit down.

OliverThat’s the part I didn’t want to find. How much I wanted their approval. I think that’s part of what Jung means by the shadow. I could see it in them before I’d admit it in myself.

SydMaybe that’s what you couldn’t stand about them.

OliverMy wanting their approval doesn’t make what they did honest.

SydNo.

OliverThen don’t explain them away by explaining me.

SydI’m not trying to.

OliverYou were getting comfortable.

Syd leaned back. The vinyl seam beneath his shoulder gave a small squeak.

SydI think you were right to say you liked the essay. I don’t think everybody who smiles at you is doing what those people did on Friday.

OliverNeither do I.

SydYou’ve put them in the same conversation.

OliverBecause I’m trying to tell you how it feels. I know there are differences. I don’t feel them right now.

SydAll right. But I like coming here. I like that she asks after me and remembers what I order. I don’t want to wonder whether I should believe her every time she comes over.

OliverNeither do I.

The jukebox changed records again. “Downtown” came through the speaker at the bottom, louder than the song before it.

Oliver looked up.

SydWhat?

OliverNothing. I haven’t heard this in years.

His foot moved under the table.

SydYou like it.

OliverI do.

SydWouldn’t have guessed.

OliverMy mother used to sing it when she cleaned the kitchen. She never knew the second verse. She’d get louder anyway.

He listened until the verse changed.

OliverThere. That’s the part.

Syd turned slightly toward the jukebox. The waitress was rolling knives and forks into paper napkins at the far end of the counter.

OliverI thought we meant something together. On Friday. For a few minutes, we did. Or I did.

SydSomeone else might have.

OliverI know which ones changed what they’d said.

SydI wasn’t talking about them.

Oliver listened to the record.

The waitress returned with the pot. Syd held out his cup. Oliver covered his with one hand.

“No more for me, thanks.”

She took the empty plates and left the check between them.

OliverI’m still not going back this Friday.

SydI didn’t ask you to.

OliverI might call the friend who wrote the essay.

SydTo tell him they didn’t like it?

OliverTo tell him I did.

The song ended while Oliver was looking for a quarter.

SydI think lunch is a little more than that.

Oliver put a bill beside the check and took the quarter to the jukebox.

He bent over the title cards. One had slipped down inside its holder. He found the song on the row above it, fed the quarter into the slot, and pressed the buttons.

Nothing happened at first. He waited.

By the time he returned, the record had started again.

SydYou paid to hear the same one?

OliverWe talked through half of it.

SydIt’s a terrible song.

OliverYou’ll survive three minutes.

Syd moved the sugar dispenser and pushed Oliver’s coffee toward him.

Behind the glass, the record turned. When the chorus came, Oliver knew the words.

Source noteThe Jung passages discussed here concern the persona (Collected Works 7, §§245–247), individuation (6, §757; 7, §269), and the shadow and projection (9ii, §§14–16), quoted in Daryl Sharp’s Jung Lexicon.

Source Daryl Sharp, Jung Lexicon, The Jung Page . The scene and characters are fictional.