Beat logo

An Oyster Bay Homecoming

A Long Island Story

By Brooke HunterPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
1

Long Island. It felt like magic to be back. Thick, fresh, morning air filled my lungs and lifted my spirit. Home. The promise of Saturday loomed as the sun climbed in the sky. An electric current coursed through my body as I got into the car with my husband. He understood the significance of this trip. The “History of Me” tour I dreamed of for years. Finally, he could experience the places that I held in such high esteem, the places that haunted me.

Dew covered trees and brush sparkled as I drove the meandering road up to Cold Spring Harbor. I wondered about the lives of the people who lived in tiny old houses, pushed back off the road, immersed in the natural beauty of the north shore. It had been almost 4 years since I made my last pilgrimage to the hamlet.

Cold Spring Harbor is an ancient place, etched into the coast by glaciers thousands of years ago. Named for the number of freshwater springs, the town was an ideal place to settle. Purchased from the Matinecock, and born out of mills, the harbor became a center for shipyards, and eventually whaling in the 1800s.

I felt a deep connection to the town – the latent history in old buildings, papered over, waiting to be uncovered. My husband knows my secret ambition is to be a detective, so it’s no surprise to him that I am enamored by the town. There is a comfort in performing rituals of the past. Like many people escaping New York City before me, I’ve plunked myself down in the park, overlooking the breathtakingly silent harbor, with a sandwich and a Snapple.

“There’s Billy Joel’s park!” Now this was something my husband, Ray, could get excited about. He adored Billy Joel and was distraught when he disappeared in 2020 after facing backlash over releasing a new verse of his classic song, “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” It has been months and we still don’t have answers. Some speculate he was kidnapped by a group called The Igniters, a secretive society that causes chaos by untraceable means. Allegedly, Billy may have been working on a full version of the song to expose the organization. Others say he may have taken off on his own to live out the rest of his days in the countryside.

The harbor came into view like a still, cerulean sea. I parked across from the green and we walked into the delicatessen. I ordered a grilled cheese with bacon and tomato and Ray ordered a roast beef melt. Now, I’ll be the first to admit it was not exactly like Victorian era picnics of yore, but it was special nonetheless.

We sat on an old, wooden bench in the greenspace across from the deli and looked around as children threw frisbees and families walked their dogs. Tiny boats set sail for a day on the water as we ate our sandwiches and talked about the town.

Eventually, we finished up and slowly made our way up Main Street headed towards my favorite place – the antique store. Sadly, business slowed, and the building sold to a new owner. Closing day. We paused outside and I soaked in the last moment I would ever cross the threshold of this hallowed shop. Ray admired the old helm in the window; he was enchanted by the dark wood, brandishing brass fastenings, and a sold tag.

My penchant for antiques actually led us to travel there in the first place. I hunted down every piece of Shawnee Corn King dishware that I could over years of antiquing with my mother. I became somewhat of a local celebrity after being featured in a small newspaper in my town. One day, a man showed up at the car dealership I worked at and offered me $20,000 for my entire collection. He had forgotten his anniversary and pleaded for my help. After thinking his proposal over for a few minutes and imagining my trip back home, I accepted his offer.

Ray and I wandered in, passing the first floor by as I headed straight to the grand staircase in the middle of the shop. I always started in the basement and worked my way back up through every relic and artifact offered. Something always drew me down into that basement, though I had no idea what awaited me that day.

To the left of the landing was an area with old paintings, etchings, and scientific diagrams of local flora and sea life. To the right, racks of vintage clothes that had been heavily picked through. Ray and I wandered around, marveling at pieces of pottery and glass. He picked up an old copy of Moby Dick and brushed the dust off the cover. I frowned and took out my hand sanitizer.

Tucked away in a corner, hidden behind a coat rack, sat an antique trunk. The box itself was a light brown color with a dark brown checkered pattern and brass fittings. An iron lock prevented the trunk’s contents from being inspected further. The tag read:

Sold as is. See cashier.

“Psssst!” I motioned to Ray. “Come look at this!” Ray strolled over and regarded the trunk curiously. “I would like this to be my item, please.” He promised me that I could select one thing to take back home, as we didn’t have much space in our house to begin with. I could see the regret on his face as he realized he would be the one carrying this large object.

We climbed back up the stairs and brought our find to the gold encrusted table that functioned as the front counter. A woman with shoulder length, wavy gray hair and thick, black cat-eye glasses greeted us.

“Oh, THAT thing,” she rolled her eyes and huffed. “here, this goes with it.” She reached into a drawer behind her and pulled out a little black book and placed it on the table. “The young man who dropped this off asked that we give this book to whoever purchased the trunk. Before we could ask any questions, he ran off. The trunk itself is a fake Moynat which really disturbed our usual clients, so we put that thing down in the basement and never looked back! The book seems to be written in gibberish so… good luck!”

I picked up the book and fanned through the pages. She was right, it seemed like everything written in there was utter nonsense. Undeterred, I thanked her and we left.

We took the trunk to the car and rested for a moment. I handed the book to Ray as I inspected the box closer. I ran my fingers over every surface. Curiosity turned to frustration as I flipped the box over looking for a way in. Finally, I found a piece where the covering seemed to have been removed and replaced. I pulled the corner up and located a piece of paper that had been wedged in behind the slat. It looked like a cipher for the notebook!

Ray looked at it for a minute and was able to make out some instructions on the first page.

Apple of the earth

Field on Cherry

Beneath the score

Lies the key.

“…What?” breathed Ray. I couldn’t let this moment pass without admiring him as he thought. His short brown hair went in all different directions and his deep brown eyes scoured the page for some other clue. With a furrowed brow, he dropped the book to his side and huffed. Truly puzzled, I racked my brain. What could that possibly mean? “Hey, last time we made French fries, didn’t you say the French word for ‘potato’ directly translates to ‘apple of the earth’?”

“Oui! Oh my goodness I’m so proud of you for remembering!” I am far from fluent in French, but what I do remember, I like to sprinkle into conversations with my husband. It’s incredibly cute to study his face as he tries to figure out what I’m saying, although, it’s less cute when I say words in English and he makes the same face. For example, “didn’t I ask you to take the trash out?”

“Hmmm, you know, my high school was on Cherry Lane, and my English teacher, who loved all things folklore, told us it used to be a potato field. There’s only one score board on that field, want to go check it out?” Ray nodded with an excited grin on his face. We hopped in the car and headed south.

As if traveling through time, we watched sparsely set, sleepy cottages and woodland areas turned into suburban developments and shopping malls. In 22 minutes, we voyaged from a mysterious, old whaling town, to Hicksville; a town with an incredibly deceptive name, it is home to over 40,000 people and an Ikea.

The roads in Hicksville are constructed as though the architects threw spaghetti on a table and said, “Let’s build that!” The area began as farmland and morphed William Levitt’s suburban dreamscape.

“Oh my God, it’s here!” I exclaimed as I uncovered a small wooden box. I divorced it from its earthy grave and extracted the black, iron key. We dashed back to the trunk of my RAV4 and reunited the key with its partner. Inside the trunk we found a cipher for the next part of the little black book.

I know you are capable of handling this situation. The people hunting me meet at the Village Green on Friday nights wearing clothes similar to those enclosed in this trunk. Please approach the men and say, “We didn’t start the fire, it was always burning since The Igniters lighted.” They’ll ask you how long it’s been since you’ve met. You are to respond “the longest time.” Tell them you have word that Billy Joel is in a secret location beneath Nassau Coliseum and you will escort them immediately. Take them downstairs where the circus animals were once kept and there will be a door painted with piano keys. Lead them inside and press the red button on the vanity once they’ve crossed behind the black curtains. Please act quickly, I’m counting on you.

We dressed ourselves in work boots, pleather jackets, and skinny jeans and headed to the East Village Green Deli down the road, just in time to meet up with The Igniters. Nervous excitement washed over us as we followed the plan to the letter and parked at the Coliseum.

The parking lot was empty, as expected, and we were able to sneak in through a broken door. Light streamed in from every window and warmed up the gray tiles beneath my feet. We slipped down the main staircase where I remembered descending to see the circus animals many years ago. Just as written, we spotted the piano door.

“Right through here,” Ray stated confidently. He’s the poker player, so I told him to take the lead. The four men walked in and immediately drew back the curtain and rushed in. I spotted the red button on the vanity and slammed down as quickly as I could. The floor dropped out, and instantly trapped the men in a cell. Ray and I looked at each other, incredulously. We sat, for a while, in disbelief as Billy Joel’s hit song, “Piano Man” played again and again, seemingly on repeat with no end in sight.

Suddenly the piano door opened. Both our jaws dropped as Billy Joel strode through.

“Thank you for capturing the people who have been hunting me,” he said. We could hear the gratitude in his tone. “I have been in hiding for quite some time, waiting for people who could not be traced back to me to carry out this mission. Now that The Igniters have been apprehended and turned over to law enforcement, how about a private show for two at Nassau Coliseum? I have a new take on an old song I’d like to test out.”

celebrities
1

About the Creator

Brooke Hunter

Exploring the world of writing and learning to love the stories I have inside of me. Happy to be here.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.