Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

On the ride home from piano lessons, Mom says that I’m in la la land. I haven’t really been paying attention to anything she’s saying. But Mom continues and says that she has bad news. Budgets are tight this year, and that means there’s going to be changes at school. Mom is the principal of my school, which has pluses and minuses. Some kids think I get special treatment, but mostly I just get to hear the news about school before other kids do. Mom says that the music program will have to scale back. I sit up, my seatbelt squeezing against my chest. Mom says there’s not enough instruments for all the students, and there’s no money to buy more. So there might not be any guitars this year.

Mom might as well have socked me in the stomach. I feel like I can’t breathe. She says she’s still working on it, but I blurt out that it’s already August. School starts in less than a month. Mom says it doesn’t look good. We drive in silence, and then she says that Dad is campaigning this afternoon, so it’s just me and her. Again? Dad has been working hard to get reelected to Congress. He stays up late writing speeches, and he’s gone a lot at night and on the weekends. Dad has plenty of passion for his job. Ms. Strict would approve. Mom asks if I want to join her in the office. She has a special corner in her home office with a purple beanbag chair and a fuzzy blanket. I curl up there sometimes to read while Mom is working. But today I want to go to my room. I feel bummed about the guitars, but I know what will make me feel better. I have to find out how to get back to Melody.

I tell Mom that I want to practice more. Mom raises her eyebrows. I’m usually not big into practicing. But I explain that I have a new song and I want to practice for the recital in two weeks.

I burst through the front door, and I try my hardest not to run across the living room. I slowly walk down the hall, running my fingertips along the spines of the books on the shelves. My family must have every book ever printed, and we all love to read. My mom likes to remind me I’m very lucky. She says a lot of kids don’t have books of their own, even the ones they need to do schoolwork. I’d normally grab a book right now, but there’s something else I want to do first. I close my bedroom door and hurry to the keyboard beneath my window. Anika’s photo, in a heart-shaped frame on the window ledge, catches my attention. Her knowing eyes look at me from beneath her black bangs, as if to tell me that she knows that I have a secret.

Typically, I tell Anika everything, even the stuff that’s hard to believe, like meeting Melody. I fish my phone out of my pocket and send her a quick text: You won’t believe what happened today. Then I lean to the window, straining to see if Anika’s mom is working the flowerbeds two houses down. The yard is empty, but the new girl is playing in the yard next-door. She’s throwing a frisbee to her little brother, calling out something to him in Spanish. When she glances my way, I duck. I don’t want her to think I’m spying on her.

I settle back in front of the keyboard and turn it on. Do I need to play a specific piano to get back to Melody, or will this work? I start to pull the sheet music out of my bag, but I stop mid-reach. I don’t need sheet music anymore. I feel like I’ve been playing this song my whole life. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and begin.

I hear Melody’s voice from behind me. It sends a joyful tingle down my spine. I’m at the piano in the church again. It worked! As long as I play the song, I can get to Melody and then back home again. When I turn to smile at Melody, I see an older woman standing in the doorway. She’s around the same height as Melody, and she’s flicking a paper fan in front of her face. Melody says this is her grandma, Mrs. Porter. She calls her grandma “Big Momma.” The woman shakes her head. She doesn’t know what’s warming her up more, the August heat, or the glorious song that I played. She likes my playing! Her smile warms me up, too. I thank her. Melody asks where I learned to play, and I say that I’ve had a lot of piano lessons. Almost too many piano lessons, I think. But I’m also proud of what I’ve learned to do.

Melody says I’m really good. She asks if I’m part of the traveling youth choir that’s visiting the church. Mrs. Porter, overhearing our conversation, says the choir bus is leaving soon. Did I get lost in the music? I should get upstairs. Melody sees me hesitate. She tilts her head and asks or I might be here for the Student Walk to Freedom Club. Her big sister, Yvonne, is leading that. She’ll be down in a minute.