June, 1987
June gloom. That's the term Chrissy's college friends had used to describe the odd, suffocating fog that had seemingly taken over the entire coast in California, looming over the promise of the summer in Los Angeles.
It was a strange sight, the wall of fog like a physical being in the horizon; suffocating her, pulling her in. Sometimes it felt the same that it had felt back home in Hawkins. Suffocating, alienating. And the fog never failed to invite back the nightmares that haunted her. Of her mother, of Hawkins, of red, vengeful skies filled with creatures her father would've called "demon-like".
Chrissy had left Hawkins for good in June of 1986 - she had often dreamed of getting away from her mother and the crushing weight of what could be considered the "high society" of Hawkins. In other words, an endless parade of church potlucks, charity auctions and dinners at their local country club. A painfully artificial smile plastered on Chrissy's glossed lips, her mother's reproachful voice in her ear if she accidentally spilled something on her dress. Endless greetings and hands she shook time after time, the perfect daughter with the golden cross dangling between her collarbones.
California and the freedom of college had been a breath of fresh air after eighteen years of suffocation. Chrissy had felt free for the first time since she was a child, free of judgement, free of the red skies. And occasionally, she almost believed that she was free of the knowledge of what lied below their own dimension.
And then her mother died on June 9th 1987, and Chrissy jumped on the first plane that flew out of Los Angeles in the early hours of the morning.
That first night back in Hawkins Chrissy woke up screaming, flashes of red skies and golden crosses in her mind. Her clammy hands clawed at her bare throat, almost confused that her fingers weren't entangling with the dainty, gold chains of neither her cross necklace or the ´86´ necklace that Jason had once gifted her.
She had left both necklaces in the drawer of her desk in Hawkins when she had skipped town, eager to let go of the chains that still tethered her to her mother and the memory of Jason.
That June, Chrissy felt like she was watching herself from somewhere else, hovering over her own body. Making promises to her father, swearing she'd stay until the end of summer to take care of her brother and to help with the funeral, the documents, all the miserable shit that Chrissy's father was dreading to do alone.
And so she stayed. Even with the nightmares, she stayed. It was easy enough to forget, to force herself not to feel real. The numbness was her salvation the days she had to go through her mother's things, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the clothes making her gag. The numbness helped her during the funeral, her thumb drawing absent-minded trails on the back of her brother's palm as he clutched onto hers.
Nothing felt real, and Chrissy was so, very grateful for it.
Until the day a pair of all too familiar brown eyes met hers across the vegetable isle of the supermarket; that's all it took for Chrissy's facade to crumble, and she was no longer numb.
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Tell us the sex stone joke
so this joke requires the light setup of, as the Resident Geologist, on any given hike my dad will have been subjected to a light barrage of Hey What's This Rock I Just Picked Up Off The Trail, answers ranging from "that's clearly serpentinite, the state rock of California—note the distinctive gray-green color and soapy texture" to "that's probably a local mudstone" to "that is a piece of concrete" to "that is tanbark."
the joke typically runs as follows:
you, presenting an interesting pebble for identification: hey, what's this rock i just picked up off the trail?
my dad, after a few seconds of thoughtful examination: ah, interesting. what you have there is what's known as a "sex stone."
you, slightly shocked by the apparent erotic provenance of what you thought was a random rock: oh! okay. i see. thanks.
my dad, slyly: would you like to know why they call it that?
you: um. yes?
my dad: BECAUSE IT'S JUST A FUCKING ROCK.
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