Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I realize it’ll look weird if I walk around in my coat while I wait for my clothes to dry. If the Kittredges just had a dryer, I could put my clothes in it and borrow a bathrobe. But they haven’t been invented yet, which means I have a problem. So instead, I tell Kit that there’s no reason to go to my Uncle Hendrick’s house to get my clothes. My suitcase isn’t there. She looks at me confused, and I finally say, that it was left behind. And that’s sort of true. Back in my apartment, I do have a suitcase full of old clothes I’m planning to redo. And I was looking at the suitcase before I clicked the camera. And the suitcase was left behind.

Kit shrugs and says that I can come upstairs with her to borrow some of her clothes. We go upstairs, with Buddy taking the lead. I love the way he’s so enthusiastic. Grace brings up the rear. I’ve never seen a calmer dog. She seems to move in slow-mo.

When we get there, I’m impressed. Kit’s room is in the attic, so the ceiling is high in the middle and slant to the floor on the sides. Windows are tucked in alcoves. I tell Kit that I love her room. Kit beams. She loves it, too, even though she didn’t at first. She had to give up her room to Mrs. Howard and Stirling. But then she realized she could decorate however she wanted up here because no one cared. So she had this brainstorm. Turn the attic into a bedroom and use every alcove differently. She sure made the best of it. One alcove has sports stuff, one has a desk and typewriter, one has a bed and a plant, and one has a big reading chair, which Buddy jumps into and a bookshelf heavy with books. And Kit’s room is neat in the sense of tidy, too. It makes me ashamed of my messy room at home. Maybe when I go back to the twenty-first century, I’ll try to make the best of my room, too. I can take pride in it, just as Kit does in hers.

Kit opens her closet and holds out an adorable red dress. They sure know fashion and style in the 1930s! The dress has a wonderful, wide white collar with an asymmetrical point, and the skirt is shaped like a bell. I tell Kit that I love the dress. But clearly, it’s her best dress. I can’t borrow it. If I wear it back to the twenty-first century, Kit will lose it. And I’m sloppy. The dress’s wide, white collar has “spill-catcher” written all over it. I’d be mortified if I ruined Kit’s best dress.

Then, I notice a box of clothes next to Grace. I ask what they are, and Kit says that their clothes she’s outgrown. I begin to look at the clothes in the box, holding them up to expect them. Some of them are fabulous vintage materials. If I saw one in a secondhand store, I would flip. I pull out a pair of jean overalls and tell Kit that I will wear those.

Kit shakes her head and says she can’t let me wear her old clothes. Mother wouldn’t like it. And if Uncle Hendrick saw me in them, he’d freak out. I can tell Kit is a girl who has a lot of pride. The good kind of pride, not the snobby kind. It would hurt her pride to have Uncle Hendrick scold her. So instead, I tell Kit that her dress is very nice. It’s too nice. I need something to throw on while my clothes dry.

With a hesitation, Kit shrugs. Then a grin spreads over her face as she watches me make an outfit for myself out of her clothes. I fold up the frayed cuffs of a blouse, twist straps of the denim overalls so they fit me, and use a scarf as a belt. I explain to Kit that making old clothes look new is my idea of fun. She had fun using old stuff in new ways when she fixed up the bedroom. And it’s the same for me with clothes. Kit chuckles. She asks if I’m sure I don’t mind wearing those old clothes while I wait for my suitcase to get here. I shake my head. Not at all.

Kit says she was meaning to take the clothes in the box to the soup kitchen to give them away anyway. Maybe I can come with her. Give them away? My hands are itching to work with the clothes in the box. I know I could make some terrific outfits for me and Kit. But then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Kit’s family is struggling, yet she still wants to help people who are worse off than she is. I swallow hard. No one will ever know how much of a sacrifice I’m making as I pick up the box and tell her that we should go.

Kit explains that Stirling and her friend, Ruthie, and her have been to the soup kitchen before. She knows Mrs. Schultz, the lady in charge. We turn the corner onto River Street and I breathe out when I see the line outside the kitchen. There are so many people. The line is four people across and stretches from the door of the soup kitchen all the way down the block. It is midday, and the sun is beating down. There’s no shade and the people waiting in the line under the fierce summer sunshine look hot, thirsty, dirty, tired, and miserable. There are a lot of families here. Even families with babies.

I know there are homeless families in my time, too, but I’ve never seen them lined up for free food. And the children are wearing rags. Their clothes are ripped and filthy, held together by thread. If they’re wearing shoes at all, they’re worse than their clothes. Some have sacks tied around their feet. I pick up Buddy and give him a hug. Kit says it’s sad. I nod.

It’s hot inside the soup kitchen, and the aroma of the soup and coffee is so strong you could swim in it. The room is full of tables and every table is crowded with people eating bread and soup and drinking coffee. The food is served at a long table in a set up that reminds me of a cafeteria line at school.

Kit and I go up to a woman, Mrs. Schultz, and say that we brought clothes to give away. They are children’s clothes. Mrs. Schultz looks grateful. She has eyeglasses that are perfectly round, so she looks like a wise, kindly owl. She says the children needs clothes desperately. She smiles at Buddy, who wags his tail. The children need some fun, too. She says she’s glad that we brought our dog. So many of them have had to leave behind the pets they loved. Mrs. Schultz points to four girls sitting on the floor and says to give the clothes to them. Their family lost everything in a fire.

Suddenly, I feel awkward. I’ve never spoken to a homeless person before. I grab Kit’s sleeve and ask if the girls will think we’re snooty-snobs who are giving them clothes that we don’t want anymore. Kit shakes our head and says no. I need to trust her.

Kit sits down on the floor with the girls and smiles. She says hi in an easy, friendly way, and says that we brought some clothes. She takes a blue shirt out of the box and offers it to the girl next to her. I pipe up, and say the blue shirt will bring out the girl’s eyes.

The girl quietly says thanks. She seems shy, until Buddy bounces on her lap and knocks her over by licking her chin. We all laugh, and we all feel more comfortable. Kit continues to hand out clothes to the girls, without making a big fuss. It turns out I’m a whiz at eyeballing sizes and finding something in the box that will fit each girl just right. The older girls say thank you and the younger ones just smile, but they all look pumped.

When we’re done handing out the clothes, Kit and I say goodbye to the girls and find Mrs. Schultz so we can say goodbye to her, too. She thanks us for giving the girls the clothes, and even more for giving them a reason to laugh. She bends down and scratches Buddy on the head. He is a miracle worker.

We say goodbye, and head for the door. Kit says that when she sees the people here, it makes her appreciate her family. The Kittredges may be pinching pennies, and the house is crowded and noisy, but at least they are all together under one roof. She is grateful for what they have. I nod in silent agreement.

All day I’ve been wondering why the camera chose me and why it chose to send me to the Great Depression. Now I have an idea. I believe the camera brought me here to show me how to appreciate what I have at home and how to be more compassionate. To do that, it has given me a new and wonderful friend: Kit.