Bless Us, Oh Lord

You are supposed to be watching a VHS tape about the central nervous system. The class is health, but it is held in a Science room, so you sit at a table on a stool instead of a desk with a molded plastic desk chair. You hear that the brain is the control center, yeah, right.

Health, like gym, woodshop, and lunch, doesn’t segregate the students by perceived intelligence. You are in Bugle Boy cargo pants and a paisley dress shirt. There are others in the class who wear leather jackets with authority. Two people are starting to be goth. There is one person you would later find out is gay, and that would make you realize you knew it all along, but in 1991, you don’t discuss those types of things.

What you do discuss is the nature of the central nervous system, which is really hard to focus on when two tables over and one up is Kari Warner. Yes, the Kari Warner. The one you assume lives on East Willow Lane, according to the phone book, although she could live on Pear Hill Crest, she doesn’t seem like she would live in Walden Point. You know that the Walden Point girls smoke and don’t make good babysitters.

You know that East Willow Lane houses have two-car garages, and people come to mow their lawns. You know that many of them go to the Episcopal church on Sunday and then to the Country Club.

You go to the Catholic Church, St. Ann’s, on Sunday and watch football with Dad while your mom makes roast chicken and Grandma comes over. You know that chicken is always dry. You know that the peas are always too buttery. You know that you will say grace in the same rote way. “Bless Oh Lord for these thy gifts.”

You heard a rumor that Episcopalians make up a new grace every time, or maybe that was the Baptists. You wonder what Kari eats on Sunday afternoon. Do they have steak? Do they have sandwiches with swords instead of toothpicks. Do they have to dress up? Does she ever think about you?

You look like you are paying attention to the video, the spinal cord. You are actually observing Kari. She sits there in class wearing MC Hammer pants and a Champion sweatshirt in a way that you know is seductive. You are mesmerized by the waviness of her hair, the height of her bangs, and how inviting the strawberry blonde is. You think “if a car was the color of her hair you know the person would be a good driver”. Your brother has a mullet and is definitely not a good driver.

You start to daydream, not fantasize, you are a good 14-year-old Catholic boy. You wonder what it would be like to go to Friendly’s with Kari. You wonder if her Dad would be intimidating or if he would be golfing. You wonder if your cat, Brooksie, would get along with her. You wonder if she has cat allergies. You wonder what she smells like. You wonder if you would get an awkward boner like you did when you slow danced with Sheila Rosenberg at Alan Cohen’s Bar Mitzvah. You wonder if your brother has work at the Pizza hut today so you could have the Nintendo to yourself.

You never really worry about how the Central Nervous System reacts to embarrassment.

It is later, and you are in your bedroom. You have a vaguely sci-fi poster of a warship flying by the moon. You don’t really like Sci-Fi. You have a crucifix. You have a picture of your baseball team from Sixth Grade.

You know that with just the right words and panache, you could show Kari Warner how you could be the right guy for her. You listen to hair metal and think about her. You listen to R&B songs on the radio and think about her. You listen to weather reports and you think about her.

You know, there have been other crushes. Sheila. Lucy St. Clair, whose name sounded like a Centerfold, even if she was just okay. Jessica Maher from confirmation class, who dated Eddie Gilroy, the freshman varsity quarterback. The kind of guy who's nice to children and priests, which annoyed you because it gave her no reason not to like him.

You also admit that lately it was Kari. Kari the Episcopalian, you think, and you would not mention her denomination to Grandma.

You spend the morning of Saturday in your room. You draw decision trees on how to impress her. You have crumpled up notebook paper scattered on your desk, a desk you inherited from your Uncle Grover, and it smells like cigars in the left top drawer.

On Saturday afternoon, you go for a walk. You barely notice the breeze because you have on a Charlotte Hornets Starter Jacket, even though you live nowhere near North Carolina and have no major fondness for Basketball.

On Sunday, you go to mass and hear a homily about how Jesus wants to love us through our faults. You realize your greatest fault now is that you cannot talk to girls.

You go home, and your dad watches the Giants play. You wonder how Bill Parcells is with women. You know how LT is. You wonder what Kari is doing.

You go for a walk. You kick acorns. You notice the breeze. You see kids riding bikes.

YOU’VE GOT IT! How could you be so stupid? You will compliment her on Monday at school on what she is wearing.

You know that complimenting her on her body is too creepy. You know that complimenting her on her hair is too specific. You know that if you compliment her on your outfit, you are complimenting her on being her. It is her personality that picks out the outfit. It's her brains that get there, not just dumb luck. The Central Nervous system! It was in front of you all along.

You know, with this plan, you cannot lose.

You go home and say grace with Grandma and over-buttered peas with the higher lilt of someone who has figured it out.

You sleep the rest that night of a contented king.

You go to school that day in a pair of Levi’s Silver Tab Jeans and a flannel from LL Bean. You zip through Science, History, Spanish, and Free Period. You see her moving from Free Period to Lunch. She is wearing a purple sundress and Doc Martens. You say to yourself “Humuna Humuna.” You spend Lunch and Music thinking about the perfect compliment. You know that a simile or an analogy would be so perfect.

You walk to Health class, and you are ready to knock her off her feet. You know, in the remaining part of the class, instead of focusing on the central nervous system, you both will realize that at 14, romantic love is possible, even if she believes in a God that Henry the Eighth created.

You enter the classroom, and only Kari is there. You approach her. You are exceptionally cool, approaching her with the swagger of Joe Montana or Tom Cruise.

When you reach the edge of the Science Table, pull out the stool, and sit backwards like you never have before, you are not Fonzie. You look her in the eyes. You are loaded with a simile, with the best of intentions. You are in love. You know in a moment with your genius plan she will be too.

You then utter this phrase with the earnestness of 1000 Saints, “Kari, you look like a big purple cow today.”

You see her face contort as you pronounce “today”. You realize the simile you chose was not the right one. You could have said kitten, you could have said puppy, you could have said songbird. You said “Cow”. Moo cow, that gives us milk. How could you say Cow?

You also didn’t need to add an adjective. Cows are big on their own, referring to a big cow implies something massive, as you now see with the clarity of 1000 saints. You also realize that nobody likes to be called massive, especially a 14-year-old girl.

You see your future home on West Willow Lane (close enough to her parents to walk, but far enough away that if you had a party, they wouldn’t hear the music) disappear. You see your kids being conceived. You see that Kari, like Jessica, Sheila, Lucy St. Clair, and Kelly from Saved by the Bell, are never to be.

You know, there is no saving this, muttering defeated, “Sorry, I just wanted to say you looked nice.” You shuffle back to your science table. Your soul has never been more connected to your central nervous system.

You go to your class reunion twenty-five years later. In a moment of cosmic coincidence, Kari is wearing purple. You see her two tables over and one table back from the front of the room as you give the blessing in your priest vestments. You smile as you begin “Bless us, Oh Lord, for these thy gifts.”