Love in the Time of Climate Change (29 page)

It was totally true that the Mayan end-of-the-world thing was the talk of the town. All the rage. Jesse had kept me up to date with the daily projections of impending doom, from the earth getting sucked into a black hole at the center of the galaxy to our imminent collision with a planet called Nibiru. December 21 was the last day of the Mayan long-count calendar, something going back 5,000plus years. According to some, and Warren seemed to be one of them, this meant that the end was near. Climate chaos had only fanned the fires.

“You don't seriously buy that bullshit do you, Warren?” Jenny asked.

“I am,” Warren announced proudly, “a Catastropharian.”

“Catastro-who-ian?” I asked.

“Catastropharian. I'm into the Apocalypse,” he said, smiling good naturedly.

“How can you be into the Apocalypse?” Jenny asked. “No one's ‘into the Apocalypse.'”

“I am,” Warren countered. “And so will you in three weeks.”

As luck would have it, Warren was always present when the focus in class was on the catastrophic consequences of unchecked climate change. He was always absent when we dealt with solutions. He got the despair without the hope. His read on The Issue had gaps big enough to drive a Mayan temple through.

I felt a wave of guilt, knowing that, sometimes, a little bit of knowledge was not always the best thing.

“People are continually falling for crap like that,” Jenny continued, her dander up. “Remember last year, October 21, 2011. You were freaking out, Warren, when some lunatic radio show host predicted the Rapture. People quit their jobs, sold all they owned, waited for the stairway to heaven. Beam me up, God! Jesus, Warren, remember? Last I checked, we're still here.”

“My brother is a Jehovah's Witness,” Jessica, one of the quiet ones, chimed in. “They're always going off on the Apocalypse. No such luck. I'm still stuck with him.”

“I'm old enough to remember Y2K and the Millennium Bug,” Samantha spoke up. She was sitting behind Warren and rested her hand gently, comfortingly on his shoulder. “All the computers were supposed to crash on New Year's Eve 1999. Planes were going to fall from the skies. The government was going to crumble. Warren, nothing happened.”

“I think, Warren,” I gently cut in, “as dire as the situation is, with concerted efforts by all of us, we can go a lot longer than three weeks. I have complete faith that great minds, such as those in this classroom, are going to be the ones to make the Mayans eat their words.”

Warren looked mildly disappointed.

Sticking around after class, he asked, “So you don't think there's anything to this Mayan prediction?”

“I don't,” I answered, almost following with a “sorry” that would have been wildly inappropriate.

“Damn,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I was sort of hoping for a reprieve. I have a court date on December 23.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. I hit a fire hydrant.”

“A fire hydrant?”

“I was driving this kid home and his ferret got under my foot. I couldn't find the brake.”

I should have known. Who else but Warren would get a ferret under his foot?

“Wow. I'm so sorry. But, all things considered, it does beat the end of the world.”

A smile crept over Warren's face.

“You don't think climate change is going to do it?”

“Not on my watch!” I exclaimed, somewhat arrogantly, inflating my power and ability about fifty zillion times, my newly named Cassandra Complex in full swing. “I'm not a great fan of the Apocalypse, Warren. Just not my thing. And, if I may be so bold, I'd encourage you to look elsewhere for inspiration.”

I could see the wheels turning in the kid's brain.

“You really think there's hope?”

“I don't think. I know.”

Warren smiled that winning smile.

“See you next class.” I told him. “That is a command, not a suggestion.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

He turned and left the room.

And, surprise of surprises, next class there he was.

Anyway, the Mayans couldn't be right. They just couldn't be.

After all, January was less than a month away.

“S
HE ASKED YOU TO DO WHAT
?” Jesse asked.

“Go to the middle-school science fair.”

“Oh my god. Sarah! Did you hear that?” Sarah came in from the kitchen. “She asked him out!”

“Stop! She did not ask me out!”

“How did she say it?”

“What do you mean ‘how did she say it'?”

“I mean what exactly did she say?” Jesse asked.

“What is this? The Inquisition? Why do you always do this to me? Jesus, she asked if I could go to her seventh-grade science fair. She said her kids would get a kick out of having a professor look over their work.”

“Bullshit. Kids don't give a flying fuck about whether or not a professor shows up.
She
wants you there!”

“Oh my god, will you chill! You are so full of it!”

“What'd you say?” Jesse asked.

“What do you mean ‘what did I say'? Is this a trick question?”

“What'd you say?”

“I said yes. Of course.”

“How'd you say it?”

“Stop!”

“This is a date. She's asking you on a date.”

“Are you nuts? It's a middle-school science fair!”

“It's a date,” he reiterated.

“It's not a date!”

“Sarah?” Jesse asked.

“Date or no date?”

“Could be an outing,” Sarah answered, smiling at me.

“See?!” Jesse shouted.

“Date. Outing. Same difference.”

“Will both of you please stop!” I said.

“What's the longest river in Egypt?” Jesse continued.

“What?”

“You heard me. The longest river?”

“Am I missing something here?”

“Answer the question.”

“Oh god. The Nile,” I answered.

“Exactly. Denial!”

“Christ. Will you leave it?”

“Date, date, date!”

—

On Saturday morning I spent an inordinate amount of time choosing my T-shirt. I even stooped to asking Jesse what he thought.

He gave me the look.

“Don't open your mouth,” I said. “Don't say a word. Just tell me which fucking T-shirt to wear!”

After about seventeen unsuccessful try-ons I eventually settled on the polar bear. A solid choice. I figured her kids would like that one the best.

I circled the middle-school parking lot at least five times before getting up enough nerve to finally park the car. Focusing on my breath, I did the usual before class routine.

Nose clear? Check.

Zipper up? Check.

Hair not too crazy? Lost cause. Don't even go there.

The middle-school gymnasium was buzzing with science fair activity. Students stood in front of their projects with parents proudly looking on. Parents chased after students' younger siblings. Siblings chased after siblings who were already bored to tears and were pinching and whacking each other and crawling under tables and causing general havoc and mayhem. The noise level was deafening.

“Hey!” Samantha greeted me, a kid hanging on each arm. “I'm so glad you made it!”

“Hey!” I answered. “So am I.”

“Natalie, Tony, this is Professor Casey,” she said. “He's my teacher at my college. He's come to look at all of the wonderful science projects you've worked so hard on!”

“Awesome!” the kids said, letting go of her and fleeing the scene. Jesse was right. They clearly did not give a shit.

The science projects were arranged on tables in tidy rows in the middle-school gym. I walked down the aisles, reading the posters and asking questions of the little science dweebs. I was bowled over by their enthusiasm, intensity and intelligence.

For the most part the projects were beyond terrific. Middle schoolers aren't yet versed in the art of academic bullshit, so their work cuts to the quick in an incredibly appealing way.

“Boy, I wish your students could see the work my kids have done,” Samantha bragged.

“I wish my students could
do
the work your kids have done!” I replied.

She laughed.

All of the projects had an environmental theme, and I was pleased to see there were quite a few that dealt exclusively with The Issue.

One pudgy boy with a buzz cut had built a miniature greenhouse and measured how trapped infrared radiation
effected temperature. He still retained a hint of a little kid lisp, and he bounced up and down as he talked. It was all I could do not to hug him.

There was one project graphically illustrating the incredible inefficiency of incandescent lightbulbs and the amount of heat waste they generate. An adorable girl with braces and braids had built a box around an incandescent lightbulb and a similar one around an energy-efficient compact fluorescent, and recorded temperatures in both.

“Lightbulbs should be just that,” she explained. “Lightbulbs. Not heat bulbs! That's just wasted energy!”

I applauded.

She had altered an old-time Smokey the Bear anti–forest fire poster portraying a burnt-out forest which now read, “Only You Can Prevent Climate Change!” Brilliant!

There was another on the effect of acidification on ocean life, measuring the impact of pH change on the physical integrity of clam and scallop shells. The boy was like a mini-Einstein, with an enormous slanting forehead and outlandishly unruly hair. I was convinced he'd have absolutely no difficulty making a seamless transition from middle school straight to PVCC.

“You are one smart dude!” I told him. He grinned ear to ear and his hair seemed to twist and twirl and grow another inch.

My hands-down favorite, however, was the experiment determining the effect of climate change on sea-level rise. The presenter was not an inch over four feet, if that, and she had shockingly red hair. She looked about seven.

“Tell me about your project,” I prompted.

She stood stock-still, back straight, hands folded, looking me straight in the eyes, and launched into her well-rehearsed spiel.

“Well,” she began. “As we all know, release of carbon dioxide from the combustion of fossil fuels is causing the planet to warm.”

She totally had me at the “as we all know.” None of this “scientists theorize” or “the experts agree” but instead “we all know.” Absolutely no wiggle room there. You're either with us or you're anti-science. Take that, climate deniers!

“The warming of the planet is causing Arctic ice to melt,” she continued. “What effect do you believe that will have on sea levels?”

“Umm …” I hesitated. “It will cause them to rise?”

“That's exactly what I hypothesized,” she continued.

“Let's see what the reality is.”

My god, this girl was good!

“In this container with water and floating ice I marked the water line and put it next to a heat lamp.

“In this next container, also with water but with a pretend island in the middle, I marked the water line and put the ice on top of the island.”

It was next to a heat lamp as well.

“The first container represents Arctic ice like at the North Pole. Did you know there is no land under Santa's workshop? It's ice floating on water.”

Jesus, did this brilliant little girl, a budding climatologist, still believe in Santa?

“The second container represents glaciers on land, like in Greenland or Antarctica. It's different from ice floating on water, isn't it?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“So what do you think will happen when the ice melts?”

Samantha looked at me and winked.

It was a great little experiment. I took notes so that I could replicate it in class. You had to think about it. Most folks would say both would cause a rise in sea level, but she explained icebergs melting had no direct effect whereas glaciers melting caused a dramatic increase.

“I do hope you've learned something!” the girl closed, thanking me for my time.

“I certainly have!” I answered, my eyes practically tearing.

—

“Your kids are amazing,” I complimented, as the fair began to wind down. “They are so smart. They really are. I had no idea these projects would be so sophisticated. They are brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I am so impressed.”

Samantha beamed as though they were her very own flesh and blood.

“And they love you. It's so clear they worship the ground you walk on! You should be very proud. I remember my middle-school science fair project. It was a leaf collection. There were like four leaves, and two of them were the same. I even think I screwed up the identification. Extremely lame. But
these
projects! These kids are little Einsteins and Einsteinettes.”

“It's a good crop this year,” she agreed.

“I guess. That one over there. The little guy with the Bart Simpson shirt. I swear I had a ten-minute conversation with him about methane emissions from permafrost. He knows more about it than I do. I asked him to be a guest speaker in my class. He laughed but I'm serious. I really am.”