Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

Dwayne calmly opens the door and steps onto the sidewalk. Melody tugs my hand and darts out too, telling the officers we’ll go get Mr. Hartman. Dwayne tells her to stay put, but the officer holds him back instead, wanting to hear what Mr. Hartman has to say.

Melody takes off down the street, and I race after her, eyes fixed on her bouncing braids, afraid to look back and see them arresting Dwayne.

At the studio, we burst through the doors calling Mr. Hartman’s name. Artie pokes his head out, and a man in a suit comes down the hall: Mr. Hartman himself. Melody explains everything in one breath, ending with, “They’re going to arrest Dwayne.”

Mr. Hartman’s eyes widen and he runs out ahead of us, Artie following. I ask Melody why the officers think Dwayne stole the car. Her eyes well up, because he’s Black, and they don’t believe a Black person could own a car like that. She sets her jaw and runs again. Will Dwayne still be there when we catch up, or already on his way to jail?

We find the red Mustang still at the curb, the officer beside it, Dwayne presumably inside. Mr. Hartman gestures, talking to the officers, while Artie hangs back, afraid to get too close. Mr. Hartman ducks into the car, pulls out the registration and his own license, and hands them over. The officers study the papers as if suspecting a fake, then finally nod and return them.

I don’t breathe easy until their police car pulls away from the curb. Melody’s face twists with emotion as she rushes to the Mustang’s door.

Melody asks Dwayne if he’s really okay. He says he’s fine. It’s not the first time he’s been stopped, and it won’t be the last. He rides up front with Mr. Hartman, driving us back to the studio, Artie squeezed between me and Melody, saying they pull Black guys over all the time for no good reason.

Mr. Hartman sighs that we need more Black officers on the force. If more looked like us, they wouldn’t treat us like criminals. Dwayne’s face is set in stone, not scared anymore but not angry either, just staring ahead. I can still hear how politely he called the officer “sir,” while the officer called him “boy.” Grammy always told me people who act with respect get treated with respect. That sure didn’t happen tonight.

I tell Melody it’s not fair. Dwayne overhears and says lots of things aren’t fair, and that’s how it’s always been. Then he grins: he’ll just keep playing his music, and someday he’ll buy a Mustang of his own, with the papers to prove it.

I’m surprised he’s not angry anymore. Dwayne may not be a famous singer yet, but he’s already kind of a star, treating himself and others with respect. The officers didn’t respect him back, but I do. Maybe Grammy was right after all.

I think of Zoey Gatz, sticking out her tongue and strutting down red carpets. Sure, she has money, but she doesn’t respect herself or anyone else. She seems kind of silly to me now. Maybe when I get home, I’ll take down her posters and put up someone new, now that I know where to look for talented people worth admiring.