The Kite with Room for a Knot

Bram had made a kite as blue as the hour before stars.

He had a spool of string. He had a whole evening of wind.

Then Mother brought the tail: a long coral ribbon with a lump in the middle.

“A knot,” said Bram. “My kite was going to be perfect.”

Bram pulled one end. The knot grew smaller and harder.

He pulled the other. His ears leaned forward with the effort.

The ribbon curled into a question mark.

“That is not an answer,” he told it.

Perhaps nobody needed to see the knot.

Bram wound the ribbon around the bottom stick until the lump disappeared.

In the garden, his kite hopped, turned sideways, and sat down in the daisies.

Bram sat down beside it.

Beyond the garden wall, Moonquay was getting ready.

Kites rustled. A gate clicked. Someone laughed when the wind stole a hat.

“Coming, Bram?” called his friend Fern.

“In a minute.”

Bram tucked the tangled tail behind his back.

He unwound the ribbon and tried one last tremendous tug.

Rip.

Now he had a long piece, a short piece, and no tail that reached between them.

Bram put both pieces on the bench.

The evening suddenly felt much too big.

MOTE settled beside the ribbon, a small moth with a warm light under its wings.

Bram could see the frayed ends without holding them close to his nose.

Mother sat beside him.

“I wanted you to see it flying,” he said.

“I would like that too,” she said.

Bram pushed the two pieces together. They slipped apart.

He crossed the ends. They stayed together for a moment.

“Do knots stop kites?” he asked.

Mother looked toward the moving leaves.

“We can find out.”

Mother held the ribbon steady.

Bram looped the ends and pulled them snug. His knot was crooked. It was also holding.

MOTE stepped onto the spool to get out of the way.

Bram lifted the tail. It was long again.

He tied it back onto the kite.

Outside, the kite wobbled.

Bram almost went back to the bench. Then he noticed a loop of tail still caught around the stick.

He unrolled it all the way.

The ribbon streamed behind him.

This time, the kite lifted its nose.

Mother held the kite. Bram held the spool.

The wind filled the blue cloth. Mother opened her paws.

Up went the kite, over the daisies, over the low garden wall, into the wide violet evening.

Its coral tail followed.

So did the knot.

Fern stood beside Bram on the grass.

“What is that bump?” she asked, pointing.

“Where the ribbon broke,” said Bram. “I joined it.”

Fern touched the patched elbow of her yellow coat.

Together they let out a little more string.

At bedtime, Bram rested the kite against his chair. The coral tail curled across the seat.

He moved the knot out from behind the cushion, where he could see it.

Outside, the leaves kept turning.

Bram set his spool beside his shoes.