Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

Uncle Hendrick’s neighbor makes us lock the door, leaving the suitcase and hidden key behind. Then she herds Kit and me down the tree-lined street. People stare at us as we pass by and it makes me feel ashamed. In fact, it makes me feel as though we really are thieves. I’ve never been judged so harshly and unfairly just because of my clothes. I tell myself that I will never judge anyone in this way again.

The woman ushers us past a giant railroad station and past the rail yards to the edge of a river. A scraggly grassy slope descends to a bushy area under a trestle bridge. I can see that there’s a cleared out space with a smoky fire in the middle of it. She tells to go down there back where we belong and to not let her catch us sneaking up back to where the decent-folk live. We should stay put in the jungle or better yet, get out of town.

She crosses her arms over her chest, and watches us walk down the toward the trees before she marches away. As we approach the campfire, a thin old man comes up to us and asks us what we’re doing. Kit and I exchange a glance and tell him that a lady thought we were hoboes, so she made us come here. The man smiles and says that he can tell we aren’t hoboes. But he can see that we’re hot and hungry and tired. He tells us to sit in the shade and he’ll fetch us some water.

We sit in the shade of a little tree. There are some falling down shacks, really just boards leaning against trees or other boards, and a few tattered and filthy tents. Some people are washing clothes in the river, and others are talking, reading, or eating something from a pot of the fire. Babies cry, and a man strums a guitar. I can hear a group of girls playing jumprope. The old man brings us washed-out tin cans full of water. He’s the exact opposite of Uncle Hendrick’s neighbor. His kindness is a reminder that it’s a mistake to judge someone by their appearances. Kit tries to give him a nickel for the water, but he shakes his head and says that we can keep our nickel. We might need it to help us get home.

I touch the camera around my neck and tell and think to myself that I don’t need a nickel to get safely back to twenty-first century. But I can’t leave Kit right now. So we finish our water, thank the kind man, and walk back up the hill to the railroad tracks.

Kit looks at me and says we do need the nickel to get home safely. The lady said if she saw us again, she would take us to the police. We should use the nickel to call Charlie and ask him to walk us home in case we run into the lady. Kit and I walk into the train station. It’s humongous and beautiful. It makes me think of a palace in The Arabian Nights. Kit leads me to the phone booth, which fascinates me because we don’t have them in the twenty-first century, and we use the nickel to call her next-door neighbor’s house. Kit explains to me that they don’t have a phone at the Kittredge house anymore. She hopes Mrs. Lucero answers her phone.

I can’t imagine being without a phone! Most people I know carry a cell phone all the time and are never out of calling distance. But after a few rings, someone answers the phone and Kit explains our situation. After a few moments, she thanks Mrs. Lucero and hangs up. I’m relieved, but embarrassed, too. This whole mess is my fault. If only I hadn’t lost Uncle Hendrick’s letter. I’d hate to look like Loony Lulu in front of Cool Cute Charlie.