Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

The woman grabs me by the arm and reaches out to grab Kit, but as she does, I wrench my arm out of her grasp and yell to Kit to run. The two of us take off. I run as fast as I’ve ever run before, but I can’t keep up with Kit. Luckily, the woman can’t keep up with either of us, and we soon leave her far behind.

I follow Kit down the street and around the corner until we come to a park. We slump onto a nearby park bench, panting, sweating, and our hearts pounding. When I can finally talk, I tell Kit that I’m sorry about losing Uncle Hendrick’s letter. Kit says it’s okay. The neighbor lady would have suspected us of stealing either way. I ask Kit why the woman thought we were hoboes, and Kit responds that it’s about how we look. I ask if hoboes are bad, and Kit says that they aren’t. But lots of people don’t trust them. It’s not the hobo’s fault that they’re homeless.

I stutter that this is unfair. Someone ought to do something about that. Kit agrees with me. But what do we do? As Kit and I walk back to her house, we are quiet. I can’t stop thinking about how terrible it would be to be truly homeless. I tell Kit that I think someone should write a letter to the newspaper about being kind to homeless people. Kit agrees that that could be a great idea. I can use her typewriter.

I sputter out that I am not a good writer. Kit says all it takes to be a good writer is to have something you really want to say. There is something about being with Kit that makes me feel like I’m capable of doing anything. So after we find Buddy, I’ll give a letter a try. But only if Kit helps me.

When Kit and I round the corner to the Kittredges’ street, we see the most wonderful thing ever. Charlie standing at the end of the front walk, with Buddy in his arms. Kit and I break into a run and practically tackle Charlie to the ground. We give Buddy lots of pets, telling him that we were afraid that he was gone forever. Charlie says that we didn’t find him. He found us. But he found his way home all by himself. I’m so happy that I can’t even talk because I’m too busy smooching Buddy. Kit bounces up and down until I hand Buddy to her so that she can hug him, too.

And after our reunion, we tell Charlie all about our adventure at Uncle Hendrick’s house. I tell him that Uncle Hendrick’s neighbor was mean to us just because of how we look. And that’s not right. Charlie nods and says that one of his favorite authors, Henry David Thoreau, said, “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” People don’t see hoboes as people who deserve to be respected, no matter what their clothes look like.

Kit nudges me and says it’s time for us to write that letter. We head up to Kit’s room in the attic. She rolls a piece of paper into her typewriter and looks at me. I should talk, and she’ll type. I look at the blank paper and get the same sinking feeling that I always get when I look at a blank computer screen. How do I start?

Kit says first, state your opinion, and then back it up with facts. Start with “I think” and then see how it goes from there. I’m quiet for a while, and then I say that I think it’s wrong to be mean to hoboes. It’s not their fault they’re homeless. Kit clicks and clacks away at her typewriter. I say that homelessness is something that could happen to anyone. I think about how the Kittredges come close to losing their house every month that they can’t pay their mortgage. So before you look at a hobo and think that they are a tramp or bum or a thief, you must try to see the person and put yourself in their shoes.

Kit adds, that their shoes are probably falling apart anyway. I chuckle and say to type that, and also write that instead of ignoring hoboes or judging them harshly, we must have sympathy for them and compassion.

Kit says when you’re finished with a letter to the editor, you must always sign off with “Sincerely yours,” and then you sign it. Kit types the last few words, then she unrolls the paper out of the typewriter and said she’ll go get an envelope. She hands me the letter and a pen. But before it disappears down the stairs, I add that she’s a really good writing partner. Kit grins and says I’m a good everything partner.

When she leaves, I fold the letter and put it in my pocket. I feel sorrowful, but resolved. I’ve realized that even though I don’t want to, at the time has come for me to go home. Maybe I can make a difference there. I take a clean piece of paper and a pencil and I write.

And then I click the camera.

When I get back into my own bedroom at home, I pull the letter out of my pocket. I turn on my laptop, and I locate the email address of our local newspaper’s Letters to the Editor section. I retype our letter, changing out the word hobo for homeless person. As I type, I think about Kit and how pleased she’d be and how grateful I am to her. I’m grateful because I brought more than the letter home from my visit. I brought a home a whole new idea of myself.

When I’m done typing, I remember what Kit told me about “Sincerely yours,” so I add that to the end, type my name in a cursive font, and click Send.

I close my laptop and look up the window. It’s still night outside, but with my bedroom lights on I see my own reflection more clearly than the city below. I gaze my own reflection, and I know I look the same, but I’ve changed on the inside. Kit would be proud of me.