Love in the Time of Climate Change by Brian Adams

between men and women. Change the relationships between humans and the earth!”
    â€œYes!”
    I was transfixed. Mesmerized. Never had I felt my estrogen levels so high. The woman in me was bursting forth. My penis felt oddly out of place. I reached down and massaged my breasts, surprised that they hadn’t become engorged and enlarged.
    Jesse was on the verge of tears. I reached out and held his hand.
    Activity #5: Action steps. In small groups we sat around and brainstormed ways to save the world. Marches, letters to the editor, civil disobedience, boycotts, divestment, education, education, education—the list went on and on. Fabulous, tangible must-do lists.
    Activity #6: More drumming! More venting! Dancing, chanting, singing! Raging against the machine!
    Activity #7: Dessert! Yes!
    And then it was over. Goodbyes and goddess bless and thank yous. We walked to the car, alive and thoughtful. I felt higher than I had when we had walked in the second time.
    â€œHow’d you two stoners do?” Becca asked as we were getting ready to pull out.
    Mildly embarrassed, I stopped the car, opened the door, and gave her a huge hug.
    â€œIt was a wonderful evening.” I gushed. “Absolutely wonderful!”
    Jesse nodded.
    â€œThank you so much for making it happen.”
    â€œHey, no worries. Next time there’s a guy only event, count me in,” she said, smiling. .
    â€œDon’t hold your breath,” sighed Jesse. “Guys don’t do shit like this. We’re too …”
    â€œFucked up!” I finished.
    â€œThat’s the spirit!” said Becca, slapping me on the back. “Keep that attitude up and we really will fry in hell on earth!”
    â€œNo, no, no!” Jesse sputtered. “That’s not what we meant. It’s just that, you know, guys are, well …”
    â€œFucked up,” Becca finished.
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œWell, you guys are working on it. Be the change you want to see. And do yourselves a favor, will you?”
    â€œAnything.” I replied.
    â€œNext time, read the fine print!”
    â€œAre you kidding me? And miss something like this?”
    Becca laughed once more, that raucous, life-affirming, celebratory laugh, and pounded the back of the car as we drove away delightfully soothed and comforted by the fact that we were not alone.

13
    O FF WE WENT ON A BEAUTIFUL S ATURDAY MORNING in October to Quonquont Farm in Whately to pick apples. It had become an annual fall ritual, eagerly anticipated. When the leaves reached their pinnacle of peak—mapley reds and birchy golds and oaky browns—it was apple-picking time.
    I went with Jesse and his new lust, Sarah, one of the nurses from the hospital. He’d been chatting her up for weeks and had finally convinced her to go apple picking. Why exactly I was along was a bit of a mystery, but evidently this was not a “date” but an “outing.” The Roommate, for all his bluster and bravado, was a lot like me: socially awkward and generally scared to death of women.
    I was happy for him. He’d been wanting to get involved with someone for a long time. The one-night (or afternoon, as was the case with the Farmer’s Market escapade) stand was not his thing, nor, obviously, mine.
    The “outing” had certainly started out awkward enough. The whole drive up, Jesse was talking out of hisass about apples, making a somewhat feeble attempt to impress his non-date.
    â€œI must admit,” he said. “I’m somewhat of an apple snob. But there is something so endearing about Cortlands. They have a crisp, robust flavor, an excellent accompaniment to seriously sharp cheddar.”
    I coughed into my hand, stifling the gag reflex but managing to keep my mouth shut. Just before we had left home, Jesse had furiously surfed the net memorizing apropos apple lines. I don’t know if these were supposed to be a turn-on or what, but clearly they