Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

I say we should go listen to the gospel music. Maybe it’s because Mrs. Porter reminds me of my grandma. There’s no one I’d rather spend the evening with my grandmother. I miss Grammy so much!

Melody nods and apologizes to Dwayne. He has an easy grin as he says that we can come over anytime. Then he ducks out the door and is gone.

Mrs. Porter smiles, her cheeks dimpling. She asks us whether we’d like to come have a snack while she makes supper. Melody races toward the kitchen. As we push through the door, I glance around the tidy kitchen. I notice how the refrigerator is white and rounded, with one door instead of two. It doesn’t have a freezer? But as Mrs. Porter opens the door, I see the freezer has its own door inside the rest of the refrigerator. Mrs. Porter slides out an ice tray, and pops a couple of cubes into each glass on the counter and pours in some lemonade.

I thank her, and she says that I should call her “Big Momma,” just like everyone else. My heart melts like an ice cube on a hot August day. I want to hug her and never let go.

The sun hangs low in the sky as we step into Big Momma’s backyard after dinner. Melody’s grandpa, whom she calls “Poppa,” hands me a cherry tomato off the vine. I’m so full from Big Momma’s chicken dinner that I can barely eat another bite. But when the tomato burst in my mouth, its juice tastes so sweet.

Poppa says that I should taste the ones that Melody grows in her garden. She’s got dirt under her fingernails, just like he does. I glance at Melody’s fingernails, but they’re clean. Melody laughs and says he means that she loves to garden. She explains that Poppa owns a flower shop, and he helped her and her Junior Block Club plant flowers and a vegetable garden at a park in the neighborhood. It’s been a lot of work, but it looks great.

I tell Melody that I would love to see it. I can tell that gardening is one of Melody’s “passions,” as Dad would say. And again, I wonder what my passion is. As Melody bites down on a tomato, juice squirts out. She clamps a hand over her mouth. Big Momma says that we better not mess up our clothes. Miss Dorothy will be here any minute to pick us up.

We giggle as Melody wipes the juice off her chin. And then we hear the doorbell. Melody runs halfway up the steps, before remembering to turn around to give her Poppa a hug. She says that she wishes he were coming. He says that he’s much too tired, but he’ll sing to himself out here in the garden. He gives me a wink as I wave goodbye.

Miss Dorothy’s car doesn’t have seatbelts either. I try not to think about that as we cruise down 12th Street toward the performance hall. Melody points out a shop with the word “Frank’s Flowers” on it and says that belongs to Poppa. A few minutes later, we slow down in front of an old brick building. The hall doesn’t look fancy from the outside, but inside, I feel a shiver of excitement. The walls are lined with photographs of performers, and some of them look really glamorous and professional. Others show groups of kids.

I ask if Melody is in any of the pictures. She says maybe and her eyes scan the wall. But as musicians begin tuning their instruments from the stage at the back of the room, Miss Dorothy and Big Momma wave us on to find a seat. When we’re halfway down the row of chairs, a woman calls out Miss Dorothy and Big Momma’s names. The woman steps off the stage and hurries over. She’s tall and slender, with black hair piled on top of her head. She says she’s glad that we are here.

Miss Dorothy calls her Josephine and says it’s been too long. Josephine smiles warmly at me and Melody. Melody squeezes my hand before introducing me to Josephine. Big Momma asks where her husband is, and Josephine says he’s around somewhere. And he’s thrilled that we could all make it. She gestures destroyed the stage and says that we have front row seats.

I follow Melody. The stage is so close! If I reach out my hand, I can almost touch it. There’s a saxophone player warming up on stage, plus a guitar player, a drummer, and a man at a huge piano. And by the time the light dim even more, the tables have filled with people. Big Momma raises a finger to her lips. The show is about to start.