27. I'm more of a large bird.

With Lucille Ball's beauty and Katharine Hepburn's tenacity in their youth, Joyce Evelyn Battin had a command about her, especially with men. It didn’t hurt that her allure was also funny, almost a Julia Sugarbaker of her region. For her friend group, she could be counted on always to cut a bitch, but with words, of course. It was baffling how many men would test this about her. They all lived to regret it.

She had blond hair, always well-styled and battle-tested. Her eyes were a piercing blue. She got away with calling her parents by their first names and her teachers by nicknames. Despite her intimidating beauty, she was loyal to a fault if you were someone she cared about—a superhero with her words of steel.

She met Chris Danbury on a required sociology trip to a cattle slaughterhouse. Yes, you read that right. Saranac students were required by order of the school board to witness a steer being slaughtered. I’ll spare you the gory details of how they do this, but the only tool used was a 2x4 wood plank—enough said. Chris went to another school nearby and happened to be there on the same day as Joyce. If you didn’t know Joyce personally, you would think this environment would be her natural habitat. Untrue. She loved animals and all living things. It was the treatment of living things that she wanted to slaughter.

“If the goal of this exercise is to turn me into a vegetarian, you nailed it,” she said to her assigned group. “This is how you kill your customer base.”

“Let’s hear your theory, Miss,” asked the operator, ready for the gruesome event.

“It’s economics 101. High school… stuff. You gross us out and traumatize us to the max, where we never want to eat meat again because of your cruelty, and whammo…. No one has bought your product in 10 years. You get to put it in containers and ship it to China… or, God forbid, Russia for less than you sold it for domestically. So why is this a good business model, Executioner?”

“That’s enough, Miss Battin,” said a teacher. Joyce shrugged, and both school groups applauded her. She did a very formal British curtsy, and Chris stood there as she returned.

“Oh, hi,” she said.

“That was impressive,” he said.

“I can’t help myself sometimes. I’m a bit of a velociraptor.”

“And she knows her dinosaurs. I’m Chris.”

“I’m more of a large bird, but I suspect no one will talk about that for another 30 years. I’m Joyce.”

Chris paused. He wasn’t sure what to say about that, but he felt she might be right, somehow, …about the bird theory. He looked at her mysteriously. He was both afraid to say anything and scared to let things get too quiet. Saying nothing felt safer. She was a challenge; he instinctively knew he would never meet anyone like her again.

“What else do you know about? Do you read minds? Maybe you could tell me my future.” Chris dryly asked. He wasn’t 100% sure if he liked her yet. She kind of pissed him off, in a way.

“Rapid-fire questions: How old are you, Chris? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen, but seventeen this year.”

“Do you currently have a girlfriend, or have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“No to both?”

“Why did you form that answer as a question?”

“Because I’ve never been asked if I have a boyfriend.”

“Do you hate gay people, or something?”

“No.”

“Are you or any family member that you admire part of a Michigan Militia?”

“Is the US military considered a militia to you?”

“Finally, an answer that is a question. Really, Chris. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”

“I admit that I was wondering if I did, also.”

They both burst out laughing.

“Do you have a pen?” Joyce asked.

“But you’re holding a pen.”

“But I want your pen.”

Chris handed her his pen, and she grabbed his arm and wrote her number on his wrist. “Try not to sweat too much, or you’ll lose my number.” She handed him back his pen. Chris wrote the number in his notebook when she was out of sight.

Do I even have to waste words telling you that he called? Okay, fine, he called.

“Joyce, it’s for you,” her mom said.

“Thanks, Doreen. Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Chris.”

“Who?”

“You slashed my wrist between the first two digits of your number. 8/67-7038.”

“Habit. I knew you didn’t live in Saranac.”

“So you live in Saranac.”

“Um, sure, Columbo.”

“And another thing….” Chris said, which was Columbo’s catchphrase on TV. They both laughed.

“Something tells me you do have more to ask, Chris.”

“Well, I wondered if you might be up for sitting with me at our game on Friday night.”

“Oh god, are you a football player?”

“Worse,” Chris paused. “I play snare on the drumline for Lowell.”

“So you’re noisy.”

“If it’s not your thing, we could hang out another night.”

“No, a noisy guy might be interesting, as long as there’s not someone playing a flute next to you all night with a third carrying a colony flag.”

Joyce immediately pictured a Yankee Doodle trio leading troops into battle.

“Can I pick you up at 5?”

“I don’t know, Chris. Can you?”

“I’ll see you at 5.” Chris got her address. She gave him Kevin’s.

Curt was also there at Kevin's house when Joyce arrived. Curt was Kevin’s boyfriend.

“How does my makeup look?”

“Fine... I guess,” Kevin said.

“Yeah, fine?” Curt looked at Kevin and shrugged.

“You boys are useless as gays.”

“Hey, I can put mud under your eyes. It is a football game, after all. That’s about the extent of my makeup knowledge, probably for both of us.” Kevin said. Curt nodded.

“So are you mean to him?” Curt asked.

“What kind of question is that?” She asked.

“An honest one. You’re usually really mean to guys you like.”

“He has a point,” Kevin said.

“Then, yes. Probably.”

“Good, then,” Kevin said. “Why did you give him my address?

“Because I don’t want you to see where I live, okay!?!” Joyce did her worst Molly Ringwald impression. “Because if he’s not someone I’m interested in after tonight, I don’t want him to know where I live.”

“But you want him to know where I live.”

“Kevin, your dad has guns hanging on the wall.” Joyce pointed to one hanging by the parlor fireplace.

“God, you are so annoying. Accurate, but annoying.”

“I'm the best, though, right?”

“100% the best. What do I need to do to make you think I’m a decent gay? I’m fresh out of patchouli, or whatever.” Kevin asked.

“Patchouli is for lesbians. Everyone knows that.” Joyce said.

“Except me. I'm a Michigan country gay now.”

“Atlanta has left the building,” Curt said about Kevin.

(Knock Knock Knock)

Kevin opened the door to a handsome guy wearing a band uniform.

“Hi, you must be Chris. I’m Kevin Woodward. My, you’re so formal!”

“Hi. Am I in the right place? Is Joyce here?”

“You’re in the right place. Joyce is in the parlor.”

Kevin closed the door and led Chris into the parlor, where Joyce and Curt talked.

“Hi,” Chris said to Joyce and Curt.

“Oh, and this is Curt.”

“Hi, Curt.” Chris said, “Hi, Joyce. Do you all live here?”

“Yes, Chris,” Kevin said. “Joyce has two young dads.

“Kevin’s farm backs up to mine, and he lives on the main road. I thought this would be easier since it’s a direct shot to Lowell.

“Curt? Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Chris asked.

“Not sure.”

“You look familiar.”

“Joyce will fill you in. You’ll be late otherwise.” Kevin said, rushing past the local celebrity questions again, saving Curt. Kevin threw in one last thing for Chris to embarrass Joyce, which was challenging. He whispered to Chris, “Oh, and just so you know, it’s either her or me," Chris looked less shocked than Kevin had hoped for.

"I'm just kidding. go have a nice time."

"You are terrible, Sir," Curt said to Kevin.

"Making things awkward is what we do."

Finally, at the game, Chris could sit and talk to Joyce. He only had to get up for halftime for his performance, and during the drum solo, he tipped his cap to Joyce.

“Cute,” she thought.

“Super cute,” said a girl sitting next to her. “Chris is cool.”

“Who are you?” Joyce laughed and smiled, friendly but firm.

“I’m Vern. Short for Veronica… somehow.”

“I’m Joyce. You and your friend looked like you were talking seriously earlier.” Joyce had noticed her upset a bit earlier, talking to her friend. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, it’s just dumb girl shit.”

“I love dumb girl shit,” Joyce said enthusiastically.

“Actually, you look like a cool girl. What would you do if you got into a fight with your childhood best friend, and a year later they sent you a videotape of them making out with your ex-boyfriend?”

“I’d send her a half-drunk wine cooler and a picture of a chlamydia test. Maybe include a wire coat hanger for good measure.” Joyce said without any hesitation.

“YOU are the BOMB!” said Vern

“Oh, I know,” said Joyce, giving Vern a side hug.

When Chris returned, she eventually asked him how he knew Curt.

“Oh, I think he went out with my friend. We have the School of the Arts at Lowell, so there’s a bit of that here. I have a friend, Justin, and I’m pretty sure they hooked up. It was a while ago.”

“Like how long ago?”

“I dunno… Maybe 9-10 months ago? Can’t remember. Is he with Kevin now?”

Joyce was horrified. Curt wasn't the type of guy to get around. She didn’t want to tell Chris about their business, so she went a different route with him.

“I think you may be mistaken. Curt is Curt Ryan. Everyone seems to recognize him because he’s in all the papers as a rising basketball point guard for Saranac. He’s already being scouted, and he’s just a sophomore.”

“Oooohhh… okay. Well, crazy me then. Totally my bad. Haha. Leave it to me to mix that up.”

Joyce couldn’t unhear what he said and wondered about her responsibility to Kevin and Curt.

The following week, she saw Curt pass by the music room while she was talking to a friend playing a piano. She yelled out to stop him. Curt peeked in the doorway and said, “Hey, Joyce. What's up?”

“Hey, do you happen to know a guy named Justin? He goes to Lowell.”

Her friend instinctively played chords that sounded like a soap opera organ on the piano.

“Harsh, Jan,” Joyce said. “Way harsh.”

“I’m not sure, but I do know a guy named Chris who has rented the message board for (at least) the next few athletics home game(s).” He paused, then blinked. “You’re welcome.”

Joyce stood there in shock. Maybe she had met her match with Chris, and forgotten completely why she asked Curt about that guy.