Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

I admit I got a little lost in the music. Mrs. Porter clucks her tongue, but her eyes are smiling, and she tells us to follow her. We cross the room, Melody humming “Lift Every Voice” softly, her voice pure and sweet, like Anika’s. I tell her she’s a very good singer. She flashes a smile, says they sang it for Youth Day last fall, and shyly admits she had a solo. I’m not surprised. If I had a voice like Melody’s, I’d be brave enough to sing alone, but I could never do that in front of a crowd.

Mrs. Porter waves us along, and when she puts her hand on my shoulder, I smell flowers. At the bottom of the stairs we run into a woman in a tidy suit and heels, Miss Dorothy, the choir director. Mrs. Porter asks if the youth choir is getting ready to leave, since they found a member, me, playing her heart out downstairs. Dorothy peers at me through her glasses and says the bus left fifteen minutes ago.

Melody sucks in her breath, but Miss Dorothy goes on. The choir is heading north for a few shows before Tuesday night’s performance, and maybe someone can drive me to catch it. I say it’s all right, I can get myself home. I don’t want to catch a bus without knowing where it’s going, and besides, why would I want to leave Melody and Mrs. Porter now?

Melody’s eyes light up. If the traveling choir isn’t back till Tuesday, maybe someone from the congregation, maybe Big Momma, can take me in till then. Mrs. Porter hesitates, then smiles and says they’d never turn me away.

I smile right back. There’s something so comforting about Melody’s grandma. When Melody hugs her, I want to hug her too, and when Melody says we’re going to have so much fun, I feel a tingle telling me I’m about to set off on an adventure.

Mrs. Porter says my suitcase must be riding on the bus I missed. Suitcase? I hadn’t thought of that. All I have is what I’m wearing. Melody says it’s fine, I can borrow her clothes. She seems happy that I’m staying.

As I follow Melody out of the church into the sunshine, I remind myself I can go home anytime, just play the song, and I’ll be back in my bedroom as if no time has passed.

In the car, Mrs. Porter asks if I’ve ever been to Detroit. I say no, distracted by noticing there are no seatbelts in the back seat and Melody isn’t looking for one either. So I settle in too, and try not to worry.

Mrs. Porter is a careful driver. At a stoplight, I notice how long and narrow the cars around us look. I’m used to sitting higher, in Mom’s SUV. She says I’ll be seeing new places with the traveling choir, having once traveled with a singing group herself, though it feels like 100 years ago now.

Melody pipes up that Big Momma sang with Miss Dorothy in a gospel group. Mrs. Porter winks in the mirror and says she and Miss Dorothy are going to hear gospel music downtown after dinner, a special show at a hall run by old friends. Melody asks if she means Auntie Josephine and Uncle Al, and wishes she could go too.

Mrs. Porter says maybe, if Melody’s mother agrees. Melody promises I’ll love the performance hall, a big stage with a piano, where they host parties, recitals, and gospel concerts, and where her youth choir once performed.

I say that sounds awesome. I’ve only heard gospel music at church and on Grammy’s old records. I’m excited to go to a concert with Melody, but sadness creeps into my chest again as I think about Grammy.

But reaching Mrs. Porter’s place lifts my spirits. The first thing I see is an old upright piano, taller than Ms. Stricker’s, with flowers carved into the music stand. I wonder if Mrs. Porter would mind if I played, but she’s already nudging me toward it, telling me to go on, as long as I play something pretty while she works in the kitchen.