Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

Suddenly, I know it’s time to go home, where I won’t take things or people, especially Mom, for granted anymore, and where I’ll be attentive, alert, and mindful, like Kit taught me.

But what do I do about Buddy? I can’t take him home, and Kit already has a dog. I turn back and see Mrs. Schultz at the soup kitchen tying a little girl’s shoelaces. That’s it.

I tell Kit that Buddy and I will stay a little longer before I head home. Her face falls. She asks if I’m sure, then if I know the way home. I pat the camera. She says that’s okay, though she’ll miss me, and to thank Uncle Hendrick for her. I say I’ll miss her, too. We hug, she pats Buddy, and leaves.

I watch Kit go. Saying goodbye to her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The second hardest is carrying Buddy to Mrs. Schultz, telling her his name, and asking if he can stay and be a friend to the soup kitchen children.

Mrs. Schultz tilts her head, surprised. I nod because I can’t speak. I kiss Buddy and put him in her arms. She says he can’t live here, but her own family would love him, and he can come to work with her each day. She thanks me warmly, and I nod again, then step around the corner where no one can see me and click the camera.

I find myself back in my room, missing Kit and Buddy so much my heart aches. Remembering how everything in Kit’s room had its own place, I start tidying: books on the shelf, shoes in the closet, laptop on the desk. Time flies by.

Mom pokes her head in, surprised how tidy my room is. I just grin that there’s a place for everything. She loves it, and I tell her she’s the best Mom in the world. She says that’s only because she has the best daughter.

Mom suggests tea, but I need to write an essay first. She nods, then adds that she wants to talk about something. A girl with such a neat room and such conscientious focus on schoolwork might be ready for a pet. What do I think?

I hug Mom again, tears and stars in my eyes, and tell her that would be wonderful.