Summary: Chrissy Andersen (original character) just moved to the Outer Banks from Alaska to live with her uncle. It doesn’t take long though for her to catch the eye of the notorious JJ Maybank with her badass ‘girl going somewhere attitude’ and love for the ocean and 90′s grunge and feminist punk. (Basically just a whole lotta angst and S L O W B U R N.)
Author’s Note: Ignore the terrible grammar and numerous comma splices. I don’t know how I’ve done two years of college either, trust me. Also I realize that this chapter is pretty heavy for a first chapter but I just wanted to put a lot of the OC’s past out there to begin with, chapter 2 will be a lot more mellow I promise. Plus I think we’ll see some JJ next chapter!!!
Warning: mentions of alcoholism/addiction (entire series)
(I’m just gonna tag everyone who liked/reblogged my initial post because I’m lowkey an attention whore, but don’t worry I won’t tag you in the next part unless you want me to!)
Chapter 1 - Leaving Alaska
Chrissy Andersen had never seen the Atlantic Ocean before, hell, she’d never been anywhere further east than Idaho and yet here she was in North Carolina. Nearly everything she’d ever owned was piled around her at the Chapel Hill ferry terminal, ready to be moved to a place she had only seen once in a postcard. Standing on the sidewalk that overlooked the harbor, all Chrissy could say was that she was less than impressed so far by the East Coast and its ocean. The water lapped too slowly along the shore for her liking, the waves breaking on the rocks below and pushing up against the boats tied to the dock murky and weak. It was nothing in comparison to the Pacific she was used to back in Alaska- powerful and cold.
“But this is still ocean” she tried to remind herself, “it can still feel like home as long as the ocean is here”.
Glancing at the water again, it was hard to imagine there could be much of anything alive down there. Chrissy scanned the rocks lining the bulkhead, looking for crabs, starfish, anything really but the murk seemed devoid of life. She wrinkled her nose at it, maybe it wouldn’t feel like home after all. It was hard to imagine anyone could stake their life on shrimp in a place with waters like this, let alone her own uncle. Her uncle who had seen 8 inch dungies on the regular and lost copious amounts of tackle fighting salmon back home in Seattle. But if he placed his livelihood in Atlantic shrimp for nearly a decade then so could she, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of choice. She would be living under his roof for the foreseeable future
In Chrissy’s life, there was little about where she came from that she was proud of but she was proud to be able to call herself a tough west coast girl. Particularly proud in fact to say she knew the evergreen forests and jagged coastline of the Pacific Northwest like the back of her own two hands. She was more comfortable amongst the cedars and the white caps back home than anywhere else. There was just something magical about the gloom and depth of the land in that part of the world. And while she had little to compare it to, in her mind it was the most beautiful too. She would miss Alaska’s rough clear waters and mossy rocks but the move out to North Carolina would be good. A fresh start. A chance to take control of her own life for once.
Getting on the plane to fly to the Carolina coast had been harder than Chrissy had imagined. Leaving Alaska she knew was the best decision she could make for herself but that didn’t make leaving any easier. Watching the dark inlets and glassy waters of Anchorage disappear outside the tiny round airplane window as they rose had been heartbreaking. She didn’t know if her heart could handle any of these new cracks, but she had forced herself to watch the land fade away beneath her anyways. It was the last bit of Alaska she would have for who knew how long. Part of her found it almost funny how much Alaska had managed to take a grip on her heart considering she’d spent less than half her life there. The majority had been spent in Seattle until her mom’s death and her dad’s subsequent relocation to Anchorage under the guise of a better paying fishing rig job. Alaska, in most ways Chrissy discovered, wasn't too different from her home state of Washington yet the cold winters and the bright nights had been difficult to get accustomed to at first. Shortly after the move though, her father slumped back into his usual hole and turned to drinking like he always had. Despite that, their first couple years in Alaska had been alright, he worked, she started a new school, and they lived paycheck to paycheck like they always had. When he lost the job on the crab boat though, he fell quicker than before into his ever deepening hole, too fast for Chrissy to try to pull him back up again. From then on he was in and out of work no matter what she did to help. It hadn’t taken too long for Chrissy to grow up after that, learning to slyly pay bills the moment his pay check came in and pick up extra shifts at the diner she worked at to supplement what he burned drinking.
She remembered the immense loneliness that weighed on her every day after he lost that crabbing job as she looked out over the harbor to the distant barrier islands that would soon be her home. How her father had all but abandoned her from that day forward, how she had woken up every morning at 4 am to try to convince him to get up for work, or how she had to squeeze in a few hours at the diner before school just to make ends meet. Most nights from there forward she had gone to bed wishing to be back in their Seattle apartment, listening to her mom sing along to Joan Jett and Green River in the kitchen. Would this move be like that too? Chrissy didn’t know if she could handle those emotions all over again, even if she was tougher and more clever now than she had been back then. All she could do for now was hope that this move to the Outer Banks would turn out better than Alaska.
After three years of working herself to the bone for him she deserved a chance to at least try and fight for her own life. There wasn’t enough of her dad left to pull together anymore and her mom obviously wasn’t around to open his eyes to the world like she always had before. As much as Chrissy wanted to be there for him and help him get back on his feet, she couldn’t do it anymore. It had taken her a long time to realize it but there was no way to do that without sacrificing herself and her own happiness. It took everything in her to call it quits on him, it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Chrissy thought about all this as the silty ocean churned out in the harbor. Had it really only been three years that she had been living like that? It felt like an eternity. She could remember the moment she had first stepped foot into the diner asking for a job, any job. That 14 year old Chrissy standing there was a different person, so far removed from who she was now, that it felt like she was watching someone else reenact those memories as they played out in her head rather than just remembering them.
A breeze blew in off the water, brushing the edges of the crumpled dollar bills in her fist back against her hand. She’d never put them back in her wallet after the taxi driver had handed her the change nearly twenty minutes ago when he’d dumped her on the Chapel Hill dock and disappeared back off toward the airport. Time moved like molasses here she thought, maybe it was the muggy air or the slowness of the people milling around the ferry terminal. Either way time seemed to have slowed considerably since she left Alaska. Her oversized suitcase and duffle bag were stacked next to her as she leaned on the pipe railing that ran parallel to the water. She wrapped her leg casually around the duffle in some false sense of protection, as if it would keep someone from slipping off with it. Not that any of the uptight rich folks waiting for the ferry would want anything she had. They were all too busy corralling their numerous shopping bags and commenting on the historical architecture to notice some out of place Alaskan girl with shifty eyes. It was strange for her to have everything she owned tucked away into these bags. It made her life feel small and insignificant, as if she were to lose her bags she herself would disappear into thin air. Never to have made it out to North Carolina, never to have left Alaska, never to have existed in the first place.
Chrissy checked her watch as she tucked the bills into her wallet. She needed to buy a ferry ticket at some point for the 3:15 sailing, but after the long flight she wasn’t in too big of a rush to wade through the crowds of stuffy people. Stepping back from the railing, Chrissy glanced over towards the ferry dock, more people had begun to mill around the pier waiting for its arrival. Collecting her bags she made her way over toward the little booth selling tickets. Behind the counter an older woman with graying hair and a bitter look on her face was replacing the tape in her register.
“Hi, excuse me, I need to buy a walk-on ticket for the 3:15 trip,” Chrissy asked, trying her best to not make the woman any more upset.
“A walk-on? Honey all there is, is damn walk on. This is Outer Banks not New York City,” the woman said, her eyes pointed.
“Oh sorry, I just... uh… am used cargo ferries…like in… in Alaska” Chrissy trailed off, quickly handing her the cash for the ticket.
“Boards on that dock, you can sit over there if you got baggage to load” the woman pointed vaguely in the direction of the water
So much for southern hospitality, Chrissy noted as she made her way over towards the benches where the woman had gestured.
When the ferry arrived Chrissy realized just why the woman had thought her so crazy for mentioning walk-on tickets. The boat had only three decks in total complete with ornate green trim and railings. She could practically see Antebellum era southern belles in flamboyant dresses and oversized hats promenading across its top deck. In comparison to the large industrial ferries she was used to back home this one was comical. Was this really how people got around here? Guess it pays to live in a land of white sand beaches and summer homes. You can have all the cutesy historical ferries you want, no matter how impractical.
When the boat loaded Chrissy made her way to the upper deck, enjoying the open air seating and the view back at the mainland as they left the pier. The warm Carolina air felt nice blowing through her hair, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this kind of calm, this lack of responsibility and stress. Glancing back toward Chapel Hill, it dawned on her exactly how big of a moment this would be in her life, how everything was going to be so different from here on out. No more long nights at the diner, no more Alaskan winters, no more filling in for her father’s missed shifts on the crabbing boat.
As the green and white ferry continued to plow through the Atlantic current, she watched the people around her. Some were clearly the rich families she had seen on the dock back from shopping trips on the mainland, others were like her - working class, poor folks. They sat by themselves few and far between, spaced away from the starched pastel families. She watched one pair; a mother and her adult daughter, obviously back from housekeeping work on the mainland, laugh loudly amongst themselves. Compared to the rich folks that talked over each other in demanding tones, these two appeared as if they were in a bubble, too preoccupied with making the other smile to notice the dirty looks they got from the passing families. It was peculiar Chrissy thought how wealth seemed to push up against the working class everywhere-demanding more and more space no matter how little they deserved it. It didn’t matter if you were in rural Alaska or a beachy southern paradise, it was always there Chrissy realized.
The mainland became a fuzzier and fuzzier blur of gray and white as it disappeared off the back of the boat. Her uncle had told her over the phone when she called him from the airport that he would meet her at the dock when she got in. She didn’t know how much longer it would be until they got there but she couldn’t wait to see him. Chrissy hadn’t seen her Uncle Chip since her mom’s death, and even though they rarely got a chance to talk since then he was still one of her favorite people in the whole world. Before he had moved to the Outer Banks in pursuit of some girl (who was long gone by now) he had lived only a few blocks away from them in Seattle.
Her mom and him had gone to grunge and punk shows every weekend when she was little, back when the music scene was still strong in Washington. They loved music more than anything, and they could spend hours geeking out over zines and the tiny underground shows they’d caught the night before. The mornings after concerts she would always wake up to her Uncle Chip making pancakes and coffee in the kitchen. He liked to crash on their couch those nights despite the fact that it was only a couple minute walk to his own place. He would play Candy Land with her no matter how many times they had played before and he could make her laugh like no one else could. In fact he was probably more like a dad to her than her own dad was.
When she had first called him up months ago to ask if she could come stay with him in Outer Banks for a while he had simply laughed, ‘why would you even think for a minute that I would ever say no, Chris. You know I love you, of course.’
In that moment his words had made her want to cry, but she had held her tears back and told him she’d let him know when she would be able to get away. She remembered cradling her phone in her hand thinking she should have asked earlier, got out earlier, lived her own life earlier, it's not like Chip hadn’t always been there, only a call away. Chrissy hoped he would recognize her now that she was grown up, not only was she taller but her hair darker and shorter than it had been when she last saw him.
The speaker on the ferry crackled to life, announcing that they would be docking shortly and to please prepare to disembark. She wandered back inside the boat and down to the lower level to claim her bags. She watched the land approach through the dirty ferry windows, the trees on the shore filled with spanish moss and the dock crowded with tugboats getting ready to leave for the mainland. At least the tugboats and their worn out looking crew members were the same everywhere she thought- at least that was something familiar.
Stepping off the boat onto dry land, she scanned the groups of people waiting in the parking lot for her uncle. She spotted him almost immediately across the lot leaning against the side of an old two toned red and white F-250. He looked the same to her, his hair maybe a bit grayer, his skin a bit browner, but the same really. She waved wildly at him, dragging her heavy bags behind her.
“Chrissy” he yelled, running towards her. “Look at you… all grown up, god you’re makin’ me feel ancient” he laughed.
He pulled her into a hug, forcing her to drop her bags to the ground. He smelled the same too, like salt and the warmth that can only come from spending hours working under the sky.
“It’s so good to see you, I’ve missed you,” her voice muffling into his faded t-shirt.
“I’m glad you’re here,” his voice suddenly becoming more serious. He held her back by the shoulders. “My god you look like your mother, you’re tall like her. You got that whole ‘girl goin’ somewhere’ look in your eyes too like she always had. Tell me about your flight, how was the ferry ride? Did you like Chapel Hill?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, picking up the bags she had abandoned on the ground by their feet and hauling them back towards his truck. He looked at her over his shoulder, a bit of sadness hanging behind the happy glint in his eyes.
“I hate to tell ya but I got to say I can see some of your dad in ya too, you got those green eyes of his for sure,” he adds, slamming the tailgate shut.
“Yeah” Chrissy gave him a small smile; climbing into the passenger side of the Ford, beginning to tell him all about her travels.
Chip turned the ignition in the truck as he watched over his shoulder at the lot filled with families piling into their cars. An old Soundgarden song coming over the radio as he waited for a particularly shrill mother in a hideous yellow dress try to load her numerous kids into a shiny BMW.
“Hey listen to that,” he said, reaching over to turn up the volume. “This god awful station is actually playing some good shit for once. I mean its ‘Black Hole Sun’ but still, I gotta take what I can get around here.” He laughed loudly.
She had missed this, the religious devotion to rock bands, the never ending critique of mainstream radio disc jockeys. As annoying as it was at times it felt like home to her. Her mom had been exactly like this.
“If you hate this station so much then, why don’t you play your own goddamn tapes,” she yelled over the song. The music was loud- like real loud-like rattling the nickels in the cup holder loud.
“Uh-uh, you don’t get to banter with me little lady, not when you just got here- not when I haven’t seen you in nearly a decade. Plus, don’t you know I’m practically king around here, and you never argue with the king,” he joked, turning out of the parking lot.
“Is that so?”
A middle aged couple in matching lilac button ups shot glares their way as the truck's tires hit the pavement, the sound of Chris Cornell’s voice booming out the speakers and open windows.
“What with them?” Chrissy asked, glaring back as she cranked the window down further.
“Ah, that’s just the Figure Eight crowd- a little taste of the local rich people for ya. Who apparently also have no taste”
“So… same shit, different state?”
“Yep, although these folks might be worse, at least the assholes back in Seattle have the decency not to dress like 80’s golfers all the time” he laughs at his own joke.
Chrissy felt herself relaxing into the door, chin coming to rest in the crook of her elbow that she had propped up on the window. She watched the trees go by as the truck slowed into the downtown area. A silence falling between them as he let her get her first glimpse of the island. The radio continued to blare as the song came to an end and the intro to Hotel California began. She heard Chip grumble to himself from the opposite side of the truck about having to put up with the Eagles, but she knew how much he secretly liked the Eagles more than he would care to admit. The town was small, just a few strips of buildings, a pharmacy, a grocery, a post office, nothing too fancy. Her uncle pointed out a fish market at the edge of town that he sold shrimp and crabs to and the house he rented a room out of when he first moved here a decade or so ago. The town was quaint, if not a little overly cutesy and touristy she thought.
Leaving town and winding down the main road on the island, Chrissy could smell the ocean in the air even though they had moved away from the beach. The trees here were nothing like back home but they were magical in their own way despite their small size. The moss that clung to their branches and hung down in the breeze reminded her of the rainforests on the Washington coast that were almost more moss and lichen than anything else. She mentioned this to Chip, the early afternoon sun combing through her wind blown hair.
“It’s like Washington, all this moss. But at the same time not at all,” she said.
“Yeah, I guess it sorta is, isn’t it” he chuckled. “I guess I’ve forgotten just how much moss there is back home”
Chrissy wondered what her life on this island would be like, if she’d ever get used to these trees, who she would become, or just how long she would end up staying out here. It seemed nice, Outer Banks, certainly better than Alaska, but she’d been on the island less than twenty minutes and her mind was already drifting back to the Pacific Northwest.
“Welcome to The Cut,” her uncle said suddenly, waving his arm out the window at the passing houses each complete with their own dilapidated boat left high and dry in front yards or driveways.
“The what?”
“The Cut, the poor people’s part of the island, the working class, the good ol’ folks, the blue collars, our people, Chris.”
“Oh- nice,” she raised her eyebrows at him, honestly a bit unimpressed.
They drove a few more minutes before Chip turned off onto a dirt road and slowed to a stop in front of a small white house. The yard was unkempt, piles of shrimping nets, loose buoys and crawdad traps strewn across it; the grass and weeds threatening to swallow the house whole any second now. The outside of the house itself though was tidy, the windows clean, the trim freshly painted, the stairs to the side door swept. That about summed up her uncle she thought to herself, meticulously neat in some areas and completely unattentive in others. Chip pushed the truck into park and she slid out of the cab ready to grab her bags.
“Hey, hey wait up, I got a little surprise for ya before we head in. The bags aren’t gonna run off anywhere in the meantime,” he said, steering her away from the bed of the truck.
“What, what, what you'd do?” She resisted his pushing, trying to turn around to look at her uncle.
He had a wide mischievous grin plastered to his face. Chrissy squinted her eyes at him, trying not to smile. She was so happy to be here with him. Chip pulled her around to the side of the house where the grass was thin and more trampled down.
“Close your eyes. Close your eyes”
“Ok,” Chrissy said, covering her eyes with her hands.
“Alright, wait just a second,” she could hear him pulling a tarp off something.
“Open your eyes.”
Chrissy pulled back her hands, her eyes adjusting to the bright summer sun. In front of her was a rusted up hunk of a car. She could tell at one point it had been a soft frosted green but now it was scratched up and sanded in random phases of repair.
“A Chevelle? You got me a Chevelle, a Chevelle SS? Seriously?”
“Yeah, yeah” he said excitedly, grinning at her with his big smile.
“I can’t believe you did this… seriously…” Chrissy adds but he cut her off before she could finish.
“I know it looks like shit now, the body’s a mess and all, it’s this fuckin’ salt air I swear to god” he says waving his arm around at the car. “But we’ll fix it up, get a nice new paint job and all, whatever color you want.”
“It’s great, Chip, really, rust and all. I don’t care. I love it”
“Yeah? I’m glad you like it, you can drive stick right?” his voice suddenly panicked.
“Ah-huh, of course”
“Good, great. She runs beautifully, just purrs for ya. I rebuilt the whole thing, engine and all, so you shouldn’t have any problem.”
“You didn’t have to do this really.”
“I wanted to, plus you’re my favorite niece anyways. Shhh- don’t tell anyone,” he laughed, holding his finger up to his lips.
“I’m your only niece” Chrissy deadpanned, her green eyes sparkling back at him.
“Plus I’ve had the body and a lot of the parts sitting around the shop for ages, you just gave me an excuse to finally cross it off my never ending to do list.” He smiled at her as he dug in his pocket for the key.
“And this would be for you,” he added, dangling the keys in the air. He tossed them to her. The chevelle’s keys hooked on a tiny blue and yellow surfboard keychain with OBX engraved in the front.
“Thank you, really. Thank you.” she said, leaning into him and throwing her arm around his back.
Living here was already turning out better than she had imagined, but then again it wasn’t too hard to beat Alaska for her.
“You bet. So you gonna take ‘er for a spin or what?”
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Relevant Visuals:
OBX Ferry Boat GIF (credit @poguesofobx)
Restored Frost Green ‘69 Chevelle (for those of you who are like me and are not car people) or Dusty/Rusty Fixer Upper ‘69 Chevelle
I'm literally working outside of work hours rn (taking a lil break) to enter plover data bc these little buggers are so busy rn I spend all of my time in the field
Collection of paintings created on Steck's Tapeats/Kanab Creek Route at Grand Canyon, simultaneously one of the most rugged and rewarding routes I've done. Shoutout to my buddy for patiently waiting for me to finish between the chossy death scrambles, raft hitchhiking, rock hopping, and slot canyon climbing.
