Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

I’ve never had a waitress be mean to me before, so I tell Melody and Yvonne that I don’t really want to go there. Melody and she doesn’t either. She asks if we can go to the soda fountain at Barthwell’s instead. In fact, Yvonne always says that we should give our business to shops that are owned by black people.

Yvonne sighs and says we do want to support them. But think about it. If we only ever shopped at those places, nothing would change. Businesses like this one would keep treating black people poorly. And that’s not okay.

After a pause, Yvonne says we should just go home. Mom is making food for the volunteers, and we can help her. Melody and I are quiet on the walk back to the church. Did we disappoint Yvonne by not going into the soda shop? It’s possible. But at least we can make food with Melody’s mom. At least we can still help.

When we get back to Melody’s home, we’re standing at the kitchen counter, helping Yvonne and Melody’s mom make bologna and cheese sandwiches. I’m adding lettuce, and Melody is adding tomatoes. But Lila is sitting at the kitchen counter reading. When Melody asks why Lila’s already studying for school, she says that it’s her new American History book, but she’s not studying. She’s just looking at it. Melody’s mother reminds Melody to focus on her own work. She tells us to wrap the sandwiches tightly so the tomato juice doesn’t leak out.

Melody says that the tomatoes are definitely juicy. She grew them herself. And the lettuce in the garden out back. Yvonne says the vegetables will feed a bunch of volunteers. Melody should feel very good about that. Melody nods proudly. And then she spots Lila sniffing the pages of her new book and jokes that Lila wants to eat her book instead of a bologna sandwich. Lila sheepishly laughs and says she can’t help it. She loves the smell of books. I laugh. I know how that feels.

Yvonne says that volunteers could’ve used more books like that when they were teaching at the Freedom Schools down in Mississippi. They didn’t have a lot of good materials to work with. Melody’s mom says that’s even true in Detroit. Her school is finally getting materials in her classroom that teach about black history. Books that teach about the miseries of slavery instead of painting a pretty picture on it. We’ve waited a long time for those books.

As I wrap up my last sandwich in wax paper, I try to imagine that. In fourth grade, we spent the whole month of February learning about black history. I did a report on Frederick Douglass, who escaped from slavery and became a great writer and leader. What if I had never learned about him? Or Harriet Tubman? Or the Underground Railroad? A whole chunk of history would be… missing.

I wash my hands and take a seat at the table while I wait for Melody to finish. When Lila takes Bo outside, I flip through Lila’s new book. I go to the index and slide my finger down to the Ds, curious what it says about Frederick Douglass. But his name isn’t listed. I search next for the Ts. There’s nothing about Harriet Tubman either. When Lila comes back inside, I close the book too quickly. She asks what I saw. I don’t know how to tell her that it’s not what I saw. It’s what I didn’t see.