Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

By Tuesday evening, I’m sitting on a church bench, wearing pink hair ribbons like Melody. Her dress has pink flowers. The one Lila loaned me is solid pink, but gathered with a bow at the waist like Melody’s. Melody told me she and her friend Sharon do Matching Mondays at school, so today we’re doing a Matching Tuesday.

The youth choir is just finishing the first half of their performance. I told Melody I was too nervous about our song to also sing with the choir, so I’m not performing with them. Miss Dorothy thanks the Second Baptist Youth Choir for visiting Detroit, and the congregation claps along. Then she announces two more performers for a special request.

My knees wobble as I follow Melody to the front of the church. I sit at the piano while she steps up to the microphone. Melody’s voice shakes as she introduces us, but her nerves don’t stop her from doing what’s right. She explains that there’s a performance hall on 12th Street some of us might know, set to be torn down this week. Most of the congregation nods, and several clap.

Low murmurs ripple through the congregation. Melody says the hall’s owners, Al and Josephine Moore, lost their home, business, even their piano, and have to start over. So we want to raise money for a new piano so they can keep playing music. She asks if the congregation will help. Applause spreads like a wave. Melody grins, says we’re going to play a song reminding everyone we’re not alone, then pass the collection plates for anyone who’d like to donate. She bows her head, and it’s time to begin.

My heart races as I play the first notes, almost like performing before judges at a piano recital. But this feels different. I’m not alone, with Melody right next to me, and my heart feels so full it almost hurts. Tonight, I’m playing “with passion,” as Ms. Stricker would say. Melody and I are performing for something that matters.

Melody’s voice rises to meet the rafters. She sounds even better than she did at Big Momma’s, and she doesn’t look scared anymore.

As Melody sings, people in the audience join in, raising their hands and voices. It feels like being back at the performance hall, surrounded by a crowd moved by the music. As Melody sings the last words, someone nudges me, Miss Dorothy, holding a collection plate, telling me to pass it while the music still rings in their ears.

Melody takes a plate too, and we stand at opposite ends of the benches, passing them along the rows. Every time a plate comes back to me, I try not to count how much money is in it. Even if it’s not enough for a new piano, I hope it’s enough to show Al and Josephine that people care.

When we hand the full plates to Miss Dorothy at the back of the church, Melody and I lock eyes and smile. Then we spot Big Momma, who tells us she has a surprise waiting.

I instantly recognize the couple next to Big Momma, Al and Josephine! Josephine’s eyes glisten as she calls the performance something special and thanks us from the bottom of her heart. Al adds that if they ever open another hall, he hopes we’ll consider performing. We could be the next big act.

Melody says of course, and I’m proud I could use my talents to help Al and Josephine. I’ve never had so much fun making music as I have these last few days with Melody. I don’t want to say goodbye, but I know it’s almost time.

After the youth choir finishes, I change out of Lila’s fancy dress and hurry back to Melody and Big Momma. I tell Melody her voice was beautiful tonight. She can only manage a “Thank you,” looking close to tears. Big Momma squeezes Melody’s shoulders, agreeing she sang like an angel, then takes my hands and tells me they’re my strength, that I have to let my own light shine. She doesn’t let go until I nod, then steps away so Melody and I can say goodbye.

I pull Melody into a hug and tell her I’ll never forget her. She still smells like roses, from one of Big Momma’s embraces, and I breathe it in, hoping I’ll remember it always. My throat tight, I hurry downstairs to the community room. A few youth choir members are leaving, gowns on their hangers. When the room empties, I sit down and quietly play the song that takes me home.

Once I’m back in my bedroom, I soak up the silence. The ding of my phone jolts me into action, a text from Anika, replying to the one I sent her, though it feels like it could have been minutes or days ago. I scroll up to see what I’d written, “You won’t believe what happened today.” I tell her the important part, “Mom said there’s no money for guitars and music class, but I came up with the best idea for a fundraiser. We are going to have a concert.”

I didn’t even know I had the idea until it poured out of my fingertips, but now I can’t wait to talk to Mom about it. Maybe Ms. Stricker can help too. Maybe we can raise money at the piano recital…