"I didn't have him in any classes but I used to see him in the hall. Somehow he knew my name and always spoke." I assumed Karen was well known around the faculty both for her academic excellence and her background.
"We'll say a prayer on Sunday," I said. "Will you go to the funeral service?"
She thought about it. "I hate funerals, but I guess I should."
I witnessed similar feelings at the hospital when Timmy was injured and Karen remained outside. I was proud this time she felt a responsibility in spite of her repugnance. It called for a trip to the love chair. I told Paul about the teacher's death and he agreed to give us some time alone. Karen willingly joined me after Timmy was bedded down for the night.
Our family was fairly conscientious about our religion. We attended church together and blessed our food before each meal; at Karen's prompt, and we were active in our parish. After all, Karen was well educated by Sister Rose. While lacking in worldly matters, the retired nun whom I never met, was definitely well versed in Catholic doctrine. Consequently, so was Karen. I don't mean rattling off the Ten Commandments, but practically memorizing the bible. Now she was exploring the competition by milking the library and Internet for any and all information on the great religions of the world. She recently expressed interest in the Torah and how it addressed atonement.
When we settled into the love chair, she told me what she knew of Mr. Bartlet, the deceased teacher. He had a young wife but no children. He loved the theater and was returning from a performance in Boston when he hit a deer and slid off the road into a tree. I thought her response to the incident was both logical and adult. Not so with her friends who were over reacting. She, it seemed, was the one who was counseling them.
"Some of the kids don't believe in prayer and heaven and that stuff so it's tough for them to understand. They just get mad."
"I'm proud of you for trying to help."
"I can't do much. I don't want to be proselytizing. I can just tell my friends how I feel without trying to make them feel that way too." God, why can't I be more like this girl than my miserable selfish self! She continued, "Like you said. I have to fit in and not be pushy. But I can pray too."
"What do you ask for when you pray?" She gave me a look. "Sorry. I guess prayers are very personal. You've got a free cop out."