Climate Change
By Gene Aronowitz
The air conditioner in Pete’s rented car had been on full blast when white steam suddenly erupted from the radiator.
He was on his way to present a major paper on climate change at Texas Tech University in Lubbock. He had flown to Midland International Airport so he could stop for lunch with an old friend on the way. He had driven north, about 60 miles, on Texas Route 349, passing isolated ranch houses every mile or so. It was 98 degrees, not unusual for that part of Texas in June but rare in the Bronx, where he lived, and 35 degrees hotter than at LaGuardia Airport when he boarded the 7:55 American flight that morning
He pulled off to the side of the road to cool the radiator but could not start the car again and started to panic. He looked at his cell phone and felt his face scrunch when he saw the “no connectivity” icon. His presentation was scheduled for early that evening and the conference organizers had recruited a panel of top names to respond to his keynote presentation. The Chair of the NYU Environmental Engineering Department had assured him that the faculty vote on tenure would undoubtedly go his way if his conference appearance was successful.
He yanked an umbrella from his backpack, nearly ripping its webbed holder, opened it, and began walking north. He was sweating profusely and had to jump off the sizzling asphalt and walk on the grass by the side of the road.
After about a half-mile, he saw a dark spot ahead which he assumed must be sagebrush. But the closer he came, the more human it appeared, and when he reached it, he saw a hatless man, lying on the grass, with a bruise on his crimson forehead. Pete shook the man, who, startled, looked up and shouted, “What the fuck do you want?”
“I don’t want anything. I just stopped to help you.”
“Well, I don’t need …”
“You sure as shit do.” Pete said, “I’m not leaving you here.” He put his hand under the man’s right armpit and tried to pull him up, but the man yanked his arm and shoulder away.
“Get the hell up!” Pete yelled. The man started to say something but then pushed himself up, first to one knee, and soon was standing, although very unsteadily,
“Let’s go,” Pete said quietly, holding his umbrella over their heads. “Pete’s my name.”
“Joe. Mine’s Joe.”
“I’m supposed to get to Lubbock in about three hours, but my car broke down.”
“Gas station up north about a mile, a little south of Lamesa. Stan can fix your car.”
“What happened to you?”
“Fight with the wife, a real bitch since she got pregnant. She knew I needed the car but took it anyway. I had a few drinks and started walking. Guess I tripped.”
“How can you live down here?” Pete said, wiping his forehead. “It’s hot as hell, and, believe me, it’s going to get hotter.”
Joe turned his face sharply and said, “Bullshit. You’re talking about climate change and that’s bullshit. Nobody knows shit about what’s gonna happen to the weather. Forecasts change every few minutes, but they think they know what it’ll be like in a hundred years.”
“They do know and you got a kid on the way. Think about that.”
“I am thinkin’ about the kid. This climate change shit’s gonna cost me my job.”
“What do you do?”
“I get rid of rust on the pipelines, and it pisses me off when people picket those pipes. You think you can just come down here and …”
“And what?” Pete said, his voice rising. “I don’t have a fucking sign. All I got is a broken-down car.”
As they approached Stan’s Service Stop and Café, Joe straightened up, spit on his palm, and smoothed his hair. When they entered, Joe walked up to the cashier, “Hi, Dottie. Pete here needs some car help.”
Dottie listened and replied, “Sounds to me like you got a water pump problem, but Stan’ll have to decide. He’s out on another call. Be back soon, I hope.”
Joe asked Dottie if she had seen his brother. “Was here a while ago,’ she said. “Waited for you about a half-hour.” Joe nodded as he and Pete moved toward the swivel stools at the counter. They looked at the glass-fronted cabinets with cups, saucers, croissants, pies, cakes, cinnamon rolls, donuts, and muffins and both ordered coffee and blueberry muffins.
“Sorry, Pete, about being such an asshole out there,” Joe said, “But I am worried about my job. My brother, our mama, and me moved here from Harlan County about six years back. My father lost his job at a strip mine. He didn’t know who he was anymore. I think that’s probably what killed him.”
“Sorry,” Pete said, suddenly uncomfortable that he considered coal-mine job loss as simply collateral damage, just little dots on soulless graphs. “I’m real sorry.”
Pete kept looking over to Dottie, who shook her head or shrugged. “Don’t sweat it,” Joe said. “I’ll take you up there. It’s only an hour away. We can borrow Stan’s SUV unless,” he said deadpan, “it’s too polluting for you.”
Pete nodded, smiled, handed Dottie the car keys, asked her to have Stan tow the car in, called the rental company to tell them where it would be, and called his friend to apologize for missing lunch.
The ride was pleasant, and when they reached the conference site, Pete shook Joe’s hand and thanked him. As he got out of the car, Pete grinned and asked Joe if he’d like to hear his speech on “The Psychology of Committed Climate Change Deniers.” Joe laughed, and as the SUV screeched away from the curb, Pete waved and didn’t move until it was out of sight.
