Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I admit to Kit that I am not much of a writer. If I stay outside with Kit and Buddy, the work will go faster. Kit grins. She says she’s glad for my help. It’s hot in the garden. The sun burns down mercilessly, and soon, both Kit and I are sweaty. Dirt is smeared on my pants, and my shoes are wet from the watering can. Kit’s sundress has a blob of mud on it.

And just as we stand up, a boy screeches to stop on his bike and stares at us over the fence. Kit warily says hello to Roger. He sneers and says that he knew that Kit was a maid since her dad lost his job. And now Kit is a dirt farmer, too. Our eyes meet. By silent agreement, we both studiously ignore Roger so he’ll give up and go away. But he keeps jeering. He says school will start again soon. Kit’d better start scrubbing dirt off of her hands now. And with her clothes, she looks like a scarecrow. It’s probably her back-to-school outfit, since her dad can’t afford to buy anything new. Maybe if she’s lucky, she’ll get a dress made out of a flower sack.

This guy is a real jerk. Even obnoxious Harry Sharma has never said anything so nasty to me. So I turn to Roger and give him a knock knock joke. Roger doesn’t respond. At first, I think this dude makes Harry Sharma look like Albert Einstein. But then I realize that knock, knock jokes probably haven’t been invented yet, so I do the entire joke myself.

Roger stares at me in silence. I tell him that he can figure it out. Then I give Roger another knock knock joke. This time, he answers with “Uhh, who’s there?” So, I respond with with “Boo.” And when he says, “Boo who?” I repeat that he shouldn’t be such a crybaby. It’s just a joke.

Kit bursts out in laughter. Roger gets red in the face and mutters sarcastically that it’s very funny. Then, he discovers the chickens and barks at them through the chicken wire, setting off a perfect storm of wild cackling and clucking and flapping and other chicken sounds. Grace joins in with a few howls from inside the house. The timing is perfect. It’s as of everyone is laughing at Roger. He pedals off in a huff.

Kit and I shout after him, and then we collapse in laughter.

After we’re done laughing, Kit and I wash off by the spigot as well as we can. Our hands and face are clean, but Kit’s dress and my pants are wet and streaked with mud. When we go inside, I notice Kit seems down. I ask her what’s wrong. I tell her she can’t let herself be bothered by that old creep. There are doorknobs smarter than Rotten Roger. Kit agrees that Roger is rotten. But she’s afraid he’s right about the clothes. She holds out her skirt. Even when the dress is clean, it’s still old-fashioned. She has one nice red dress, but it’s too good to wear to school. She has to save it for church and parties. She whispers that she wishes she could have a new dress to wear on the first day of school. But she knows it’s not possible. There’s no money for a new dress. If there was any extra money, it’d be put towards sending Charlie to college. As it is, her parents need every penny. The mortgage is a whole twenty dollars a month.

Now I feel a little down, too. Izza and I blow twenty dollars just going to the movies! I wish I had a twenty dollar bill and a new outfit to give Kit right now.

When we step into the kitchen, we see six people all looking at me with curiosity. A nice looking man says I must be Lulu. He introduces himself as Kit’s father. He nods his head toward a tall teenage boy and a short young boy who are sitting at the table making a kite. Charlie, Kit’s brother, is the older teenager, and the boy is one of the boarders, Stirling Howard. They both greet me. I blush and inwardly kick myself for the fact that I’m meeting all these people while looking like a wreck. Charlie’s movie-star handsome, and I’m not kidding.

Mrs. Kittredge introduces Stirling’s mother, Mrs. Howard, and Miss Hart and Miss Finney. All three ladies greet me in unison. They sound so comical that we all start laughing. For a second, I think Miss Hart and Miss Finney must be on their way to a costume party because they’re decked out an old-fashioned nurses’ uniforms with white stockings, shoes, dresses, and stiff white hats on their heads. But I realize that in the 1930s, this is how nurses actually dress.

Mrs. Kittredge thanks me for helping in the garden. They’ll be having lunch in a while. She offers for me to stay. I thank her, but tell her I should be going. Mrs. Kittredge has been gracious, but I’m aware that she would have to stretch the food she has even farther to give me lunch. They’re growing food to save money. I don’t want to be an expense to them. I pick up the potato sack to leave, and Kit says that she’ll walk me to the train yard. But this reminds Mrs. Kittredge. She put a box of a old clothes up in Kit’s bedroom. She says that we can take it with us and drop it off at the soup kitchen or church on the way to the train yard.

I head upstairs with Kit. Her attic room is quirky and fun looking, with four alcoves tucked under a steep roof. Each alcove is decorated differently: one has a desk, one has a soft reading chair, one has a bed, and one has sports equipment. But I hardly notice the room because I spot the box of Mrs. Kittredge’s old clothes, and my eyes pop out of my head.

I lift one dress out of the box and flip out because it is gorgeous. The material it is made out of is to die for. It is a wonderful, slippery, feathery cotton satin that catches the light as if it were silk. I love the rosy color of the background and the bright, cheery flowers scattered in bunches. There’s a coffee stain on the skirt near the hem, a lacey collar is unraveled, and one of the sleeves is frayed, so I can see why Mrs. Kittredge thinks it’s unusable. But my heart is beating fast because I know that it is.

I ask Kit if her mother is really giving the dress away. She doesn’t want it anymore? Would she mind if I changed it? Kit shrugs and says that I might as well. I tell her we’re in business. I tell her to put her arms up and stand still. Before Kit can make a peep protest, I slip the dress over her head. I tell her it’s going to be spectacular back-to-school dress. Kit looks puzzled, so I explain that clothes are my hobby. I mess around with them, taking them apart and putting them back together in different ways to make new outfits. It’s silly, but—

Kit interrupts me. She says Mother’s always trying to make over our old clothes to get more wear out of them. But this dress might be hopeless. I tell her it’s not. Kit fetches is a pair scissors and the sewing basket from her mother’s room. I kneel at Kit’s feet and take a deep breath. Mom always says I’m fearless with scissors, but I’m sort of nervous now because I’ve never altered a dress for anyone else before. And this dress must be perfect because it’s for my friend, Kit.

So I snip, snip at the dress. I cut a swath that includes the coffee stain off the hem to make the dress the right length for Kit. I pull off the tattered lace collar and remove the sleeves. I don’t feel so nervous anymore. I feel excited as I cut, snip, pin, and baste. I don’t have time to sew the seams or hem carefully. That’ll have to be done later. But I cut the collar off a white shirt and tack that onto the neckline. And then, presto. A pretty dress has taken shape. I turn Kit around so she’s facing the mirror and ask her what she thinks.

Kit gasps. She says she loves it. She ask me how I made something so pretty out of Mother’s old dress. I shrug, but in reality, I’ve never felt so proud in all my life. Who would have guessed that my goofy hobby would turn out so useful?