Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

Melody isn’t exactly leaping out of her chair to get the umbrella, so I hang back, too. What would be even say to Rosa Parks if we caught up with her? Instead, I tell Yvonne about the umbrella. Yvonne says she’ll make sure it finds its way back to her. But as Melody and I go back to stuffing envelopes, I keep wondering if we missed out on something big. Our work isn’t nearly as exciting anymore, so when Yvonne tells us it’s time to do something else, we are ready.

As we drive away from the meeting hall, Yvonne says we can help with the voter registration. We’ll go door-to-door, making sure people know how to sign up to vote. It’s like we’re selling cookies or magazines? I was never very good at that. Melody asks if this is what Yvonne did in Mississippi. She looks nervous. Is she afraid we’ll get arrested the same way Yvonne did? My stomach lurches at the thought.

Melody whispers to me that she’s not sure about the voter registration thing. She wishes Yvonne had given us a choice of something else to do. Yvonne overhears from the driver’s seat. She purses her lips and retorts that Melody didn’t get to vote on something that mattered to her? How did that feel? Melody hangs her head as if she got caught talking in class. She says it didn’t feel good at all. Yvonne nods. So, that’s why we have to make sure that people can vote. Remember, Daddy always says that voting is like having a voice. Everyone should have a voice about things that matter. Melody points out that Yvonne’s wrist is still broken.

Understanding spreads across Yvonne’s face. She nods her head slowly and asks if we’re scared. Melody nods, and asks why Yvonne isn’t. Yvonne straightens up in her seat. She says that when she was sitting in that jail, she told herself that she wasn’t going to let fear hold her back. She doesn’t want fear to hold us back either. No matter where we are, we can’t let fear keep us from doing what’s right. Melody sits up a little taller.

Through the window beside her, I see a tall concrete wall built across the road. It seems to stretch on for miles. I ask what it is. Yvonne looks out the window and says it was built by developers who wanted to keep white neighborhoods separate from black neighborhoods. It’s six feet high and about a foot thick. I clarify that they built a physical wall? Melody nods. A big, ugly concrete wall. It looks like it’s crumbling in parts though. Yvonne shakes her head that says it’s still much too strong. There’s still lines drawn between white neighborhoods and black neighborhoods, even if there aren’t actual walls built between all of them.

Melody says that her cousin Val had trouble buying their own house in a neighborhood that was mostly white. Some of the neighbors didn’t want them there. But finally, they found someone to sell a house to them. Yvonne asks if Melody helped out plant new flowers. Melody says yes. In fact, we should go see them. Maybe we can. Maybe Mommy will let all of us go to Val’s tomorrow. I say that sounds fun. And we could use some fun right now, after hearing how badly Melody’s cousin and other black families are being treated.