Northport memories

I used to love to drive out to the waterfront in Northport in my old Hyundai hatchback on an early spring day . 

You know, there was still that nip in the air and the trees all still bear. But the air was so crisp. I’d whizz along the snaking 25-A and make that sharp left down that quaint little road that descended all the way down to the water. 

I’d dream of those dockside houses with their odd garages. The bricks of the road. The cats that tiptoed across the sidewalk like ballerinas.

Down down to the water.

My escape. 

Sometimes after work, sometimes from buttercup lane where my parents lived five minutes away off of 25-a and cherry lane and just past where my equestrian trainer’s house was.

Northport was so nice and sleepy with its tram tracks on the street where Jack Kerouac lived. I used to sit on the curb out there and stare up at his window imagining ….what he saw. With a tuna fish salad sandwich walk along the tram tracks to the path that lead to the long dock.

The Northport New York yachts under a setting sun were often my best company.

John and I lived between a cemetery and a biker’s dive. Our last place together. 

I’d go at high speed over the railroad tracks and do a wheelie right into the drive and more often than not he was standing with a crossbow aimed at a squirrel