Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

As I climb into the backseat of the Mustang, I notice that it smells so new. Everything in the car is red, from the leather seats to the steering wheel. Melody says it is new. It’s a 1964 Ford Mustang. Daddy says it’s the most popular car of the year. She tells Dwayne to turn on the radio.

Dwayne starts the engine and reaches for the radio. As soon as the music flows the speakers, Melody recognizes the song. It’s The Temptations. Dwayne adjusts his mirrors and rolls down his window halfway and says that pretty soon, Melody is going to be hearing a lot more of him when she turns on the radio. He looks proud as a peacock. Melody nods and says, then, people will be running errands for him. I add that they’ll treat him like a king. Pop stars are sometimes even more famous than Kings and Queens. Last time I saw Zoey Gatz on TV, she was walking down a royal red carpet at an awards show.

Dwayne chuckles and says that sounds about right, all except for the king part. He says that he doesn’t care if you’re The Temptations or Smokey Robinson himself. No black musician is treated like a king on the road, especially in the south. Melody nods solemnly. She tells me that Dwayne went on tour down south, and he said the black musicians couldn’t stay in the same hotels as white people. And they couldn’t use the front doors of the clubs because those were for white people, too. They had to go in the back.

I’m astonished. I try to understand. Zoey Gatz is black, but I can’t imagine a hotel ever turning her away. Suddenly, a siren swells behind us, and red and blue flashing lights pour through the back window.

I ask if it’s a fire truck, and Melody says it’s the police. Her eyes are wide. Dwayne immediately pulls the car to the side of the street. His eyes in the rearview mirror looks scared, but his mouth is set in a straight, hard line. I wonder if he did something wrong. Was he speeding?

A police officer taps on the window next to Dwayne. And another officer appears on my side of the car. Dwayne rolls down the window and the officer glances in the backseat at me and Melody. My stomach tightens and I look away. The officer hovers over Dwayne and asks if it’s his car. The other officer answers and says that there’s no way a boy like him he could drive a car like this. I wonder what he means by “a boy like him.” Does he think Dwayne is too young to drive?

The first officer tell Dwayne to answer him. And he can’t lie. And then it hits me. I can tell by his voice that he thinks Dwayne stole the car.

Dwayne politely answers no. He’s borrowing the car from a friend. The officer doesn’t seem to believe him. He asks if the friend has a name. How about if the officers take Dwayne down to the station and he could tell them more about this “friend.” Melody’s hand finds mine. I can feel her trembling. Dwayne’s voice is steady as he says the car belongs to Mr. James Hartman down at Hitsville. Mr. Hartman is a producer.

The officer stares hard at Dwayne for what feels like an eternity before saying that he’ll need Dwayne to step out of the car. I freeze. I can’t even breathe. Is Dwayne going to be arrested?