Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I tell Kit that I shouldn’t come into the house. I’m not her Cousin Lucille. Kit looks puzzled. Then, her face softens with sympathy and she says that she understands. I’m a hobo. But before I get a chance to respond, somebody interrupts. It’s a slender, pretty woman. When she sees me, she looks distressed. Not another one. And so young. Kit says that my name is Lulu, and this is my dog, Buddy. I’m about to explain that Lulu isn’t my name. But Kit’s mother is already speaking to me. She says we must be hot and thirsty. It’s a long walk up here from the train yard. She turns to Kit and tells her to give me and the dog some water from the spigot by the garden. She’ll bring out some food. Kit starts to ask if if we can be invited inside, but her mother firmly says no. I’m the third hobo this week. I’ll get some food and then be on my way.

Kit nods sadly, and then her mother leave. It looks as if Kit and her mother are going to call me Lulu. That’s okay. But it’s not cool that they think I’m a hobo. Isn’t a hobo a homeless person? Where am I? Buddy is dancing happily at my feet, and I see he has a newspaper in his mouth. I take the newspaper from him and I catch a glimpse of the date on it. September 1, 1933.

I’m shocked. Has the camera transported me back in time? I clicked the camera, and now I’m having some sort of time-travel experience? Not possible. The newspaper headline is about President Franklin Roosevelt. I know he was present during World War II because I saw a movie about him. And I once wrote a book report about his wife, Eleanor. But all I remember is that she helped poor people.

I ask Kit if today is indeed September 1, 1933. Kit says yes. School will be starting next week. She grabs the newspaper from me and says she’ll take it inside. I can go around to the back of the house and they’ll meet me there.

I say okay as Kit leaves. My brain is whirling. I’m trying to sort out what’s going on. Not only have I traveled back in time, but I’m now a homeless person. Thanks a lot, camera. I look down. I am wearing an old coat, pre-distressed cut-off jeans, and a pre-faded plaid shirt. They’re very trendy in the twenty-first century. But perhaps to the 1930s folk, they look old and tattered. Still! Why couldn’t I travel back in time to be an explorer or a famous scientist or a movie star? Maybe if I click the camera again, it’ll send to a better time in place where I can be a queen or something. I don’t want to be a hobo.

I’m nervous and excited, but mostly curious. I click the camera. Where will it take me? And when I open my eyes, I find them back in my apartment. It’s quiet, cold, and lonely. Same old, same old. I realize then, that Kit intrigues me. At least when I’m Lulu, I have Buddy. A roly-poly puppy of my own. But hello, a hobo? Give me a break. Come on, camera! Surely we can do better than that.

I close my eyes, and click the camera again. When I open my eyes, I am back in Kit’s front yard. Buddy greets me, and wriggles with delight. It seems that no time has passed. So that’s how it works. The camera is sure that I am meant to be with Kit. I’m not really that disappointed either. Kit seems nice. And Buddy is the dog I’ve always wanted. Buddy and I walk around to the back of the house. Kit is waiting for us by a spigot next to the garage. There’s a big vegetable garden, and I think I hear chickens, even though we seem to be in a city suburb, not the country.

I tell Kit that it’s a nice garden. I’m not a gardener. I’ve never even watered the potted plants on the balcony. But Camp Mosquito was all about stuff like composting and worms and growing your own vegetables. Kit smiles and asks if I grew up on a farm. The truth is, I’ve never even been to a farm, so I tell her I’m more of an indoorsy, city kind of person. Kit asks if I work in a factory. Kids my age used to work in factories? I thought they were laws about that kind of a thing. I tell her that I’m more a student.

Kit’s face goes red, as if she’s embarrassed. She whispers and asks if my family was just like hers before the Depression. She knows how it is. Her dad lost his job a while ago. Now there’s no money to send Charlie, her brother, to college, and they have to rent rooms in the house to boarders. Kit admits that they’re scraping by, but it’s hard to come up with twenty dollars for the mortgage every month, so they’re close to losing their house. I clarify that that’s not really my situation. My mother has a job. She’s still at home. I just left unexpectedly. Kit’s eyes open wide. So I ran away from my family so they didn’t have to feed me anymore. Kit nods and says that last month, she met a boy named Will. He’s a hobo, and that’s what he did, too.

Man, this depression stuff sounds horrible. Imagine always being on the brink of losing your home, or running away so your family doesn’t have to feed you. That’s so sad. I can see why they call it a Depression. Just then, Kit’s mother appears carrying a plate of sandwiches and a cloth sack. She nods to the spigot and says I should wash my face and hands. There’s soap and a rough cloth next to the spigot, and I do as I’m told. Kit’s mother hand me the plate and apologizes that they can’t spare more. I tell her that that’s okay. The sack is lumpy. I look inside and see potatoes. I’m not sure what to do with them; I can’t eat them raw after all. But I thank her anyway.

Kit’s mom smiles and leaves. As I eat the sandwiches, Kit says that she knows her mother wishes she could do more to help. But so many hoboes come up from the train. I guess the kind-lady symbol must be on the fence again. I asked him what she means, and Kit leads me around to the outside of the fence and points to a symbol chalked on one of the boards. It looks like a cat. Kit says a hobo code. It means the lady who lives here is kind-hearted and gives hoboes food as a handout or in return for doing chores. Kit looks at me seriously and wonders if they could find chores for me to do. Maybe Mother would let me and Buddy stay a while.