Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

On the ride home from piano lessons, Mom says I’m in la la land, and she’s right that I haven’t been listening to anything she’s saying. Then she says she has bad news: budgets are tight this year, and that means changes at school. Mom is the principal of my school, which has its pluses and minuses. Mostly it means I hear news like this before other kids do. She says the music program will have to scale back. There aren’t enough instruments for all the students and 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 can’t breathe, and I blurt out that it’s already August, school starts in less than a month. She admits it doesn’t look good. We drive home in silence.

Dad is campaigning again 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 is gone a lot at night and on the weekends. Mom asks if I want to join her in her home office, in the little corner with the beanbag chair and a soft blanket where I curl up to read while she works. But today I want my room instead. 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 I want to practice more. She raises her eyebrows, since I’m not usually big on practicing, but I explain that I have a new song and I want to get it ready for the recital in two weeks.

I hurry through the front door, trying not to run across the living room, and head down the hall past the shelves where my family keeps every book we own. Mom likes to remind me how lucky that makes me. I close my bedroom door and go straight to the keyboard under my window. Anika’s photo, in its heart-shaped frame on the window ledge, watches me like she knows I have a secret.

I tell Anika everything, even something as hard to believe as meeting Melody, so I fish out my phone and text her, You won’t believe what happened today. Then I check the window to see if Anika’s mom is working the flowerbeds down the street, but the yard is empty. Next door, the new girl is playing frisbee with her little brother, calling out to him in Spanish. When she glances my way, I duck so she won’t 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 reach Melody, or will this one work? I start to pull the sheet music out of my bag, then stop mid-reach. I don’t need it 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 behind me, and it sends a joyful tingle down my spine. It worked. I’m back at the piano in the church. As long as I play the song, I can reach Melody and get back home again.

When I turn to smile at Melody, I see an older woman standing in the doorway, about the same height as Melody, flicking a paper fan in front of her face. Melody introduces her grandmother, Mrs. Porter, whom she calls “Big Momma.” Mrs. Porter says she isn’t sure what’s warming her up more, the August heat or the song I just played, and her smile tells me she means it. I thank her. Melody asks where I learned to play, and I admit to a lot of piano lessons, almost too many, though I’m still proud of what I’ve learned to do.

Melody says I’m really good and asks if I’m part of the traveling youth choir visiting the church. Mrs. Porter, overhearing our conversation, says the choir bus is leaving soon, so I should get upstairs. Melody sees me hesitate and guesses I might be here instead for the Student Walk to Freedom Club. Her big sister, Yvonne, is leading that, and she’ll be down in a minute.