Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

Monday morning comes too quickly. Before I know it, Yvonne is standing in Big Momma’s living room. Her eyes are lit up, like she’s been awake for hours. Now I know how Yvonne’s wrist got hurt, and I’m even more impressed with her courage. No wonder she doesn’t seem nervous about today.

Yvonne asks if we’re ready, and Melody says she is except we have to tell Big Momma we’re leaving. She’s going to worry. Melody calls upstairs, but there’s no response. Yvonne and I follow Melody into the kitchen. We find a note on the counter that says that Big Momma went to visit a friend. We can help ourselves to breakfast.

Melody sighs. Good. Now no one will be worried about us going to the demonstration.

We set out for 12th Street, Yvonne in the lead. The distance feels farther on foot than it did in the car last night. And Yvonne is walking so fast that Melody and I can barely keep up. When we ask Yvonne to slow down, she says we don’t want to be late. And then it occurs to me. What if the construction crew is already there? My fast walk turns into a run.

When we’re a block away from the performance hall, we see a yellow crane and lots of men wearing hard-hats. Melody groans. We might be too late. Yvonne says they haven’t started yet. But we should hurry.

And then we see something else, a crowd of people, most of them teenagers, gathered in front of the building. Melody stops short, and I plow into the back of her, making her fall forward. I ask her what’s wrong. She points, and I see Josephine, standing tall and proud among the crowd. And next to her is Big Momma. She sees us at the same moment, and she opens her arms wide. Big Momma has tears in her eyes when we reach her. She said she couldn’t stay away either. Some things are worth fighting for.

I feel safe wrapped up in Big Momma’s hug, until I hear sirens. A nervous energy runs through the crowd of protesters, and Big Momma pulls Melody and me closer. A construction crew manager jogs over to meet the two police officers as they climb out of a squad car. They talk for a moment, then the police officers walk towards us. Melody and I squeeze each others’ hands.

Yvonne steps forward to meet the officers and says that we’re staging a peaceful protest. The first officer says that peaceful or not, we are standing in the way of city business. They need us to clear out, now. Nobody moves. The second officer strokes his mustache and tells us to go home. We’re just kids. This doesn’t involve us.

He sounds like he’s trying to be nice, but his words sting. We may be kids, but we are involved. We know what matters. This performance hall matters. Music matters.

Yvonne reaches out her right hand to the boy next to her. Others grasp hands, too, until they form a wall between the police and the building. I reached for Melody’s hand and then Big Momma’s. None of the volunteers flinch or move out of the way, not even when the first officer started talking about arresting us. He says anyone who refuses to leave will be taken downtown.

I can tell the officer with the mustache doesn’t want that. He tries again to tell us to go home. I look at Big Momma and ask if they’re really going to arrest us all. She pulls me toward her, Melody’s eyes wide, too. Big Momma tells us not to be scared. We’re going to sing. Sing with love in our hearts, and good feelings in our souls. And with that, Big Momma’s low, powerful voice begins.

Josephine joins in. And then Melody sings, too, her voice sweet and high, but strong.

The others around us start to sing, too, and then something happens. It’s like someone tipped a bucket of warm-water inside me, and it fills me with such a good feeling that I can’t help but start singing, too. My voice isn’t deep and strong like Big Momma’s, or pure and sweet like Melody’s. But it’s all I’ve got, and I sing with everything I have.

We keep singing for a long time. When one of the protesters starts a song I don’t know, I hum along until the words are familiar. The warm-water feeling stays with me. The construction crew just stands and watches while their manager talks to the police. I’m still singing when a police van appears. All of a sudden, the officers lead a group of protesters towards the van. One of them is Yvonne.

Melody squeals, lunging forward. Big Momma soothes her and said she’s going to be all right. But Melody breaks free and races after her sister. Big Momma cries, pushing through the crowd after Melody. I try to follow, but there are too many people! Their hands are locked together, holding me back. When I break free, I see a police officer coming my way. Is he going to arrest me? I run the other way, towards the hall. Then I hear my name, coming from somewhere that sounds like Melody’s voice.

I see Melody across the street, with Big Momma by her side. Melody’s waving to me, but I can’t get there. The river of people is too wide to cross. I stumble into somebody. It’s Josephine. She says it’s okay, and that she will get me to Melody just fine. She takes my hand and starts to push her away through the crowd. But the only place I want to go right now is home.

I ask Josephine if she can do something for me. I tell her to tell Melody I have to go home. She knows that I miss my family. Josephine hesitates, but says that she can take me. I shake my head and say I can get there. It’s close. And it is. I just need to get to a piano.

And then I remember the piano inside the performance hall. Is it safe? I scan the crowd, looking for the construction crew. I tell Josephine to look where I see the construction crew is heading toward their trucks. They might be leaving. Josephina shakes her head and says they’re taking a coffee break. They have to wait for the police to clear the crowd, which might take a while.

That’s all I need to hear. I hug Josephine and then as she makes her way across the street, I go the other way, toward the door of the performance hall. When I’m sure no one is looking, I duck inside.

Inside the performance hall, it’s very dark. As my eyes adjust, I see the shadowy stage and the hulking piano at the back of the room. I hurry down the aisle and crawl up onto the stage. There’s no piano bench to sit on, but that’s okay. I lean forward over the keys. I start to play, but my hands are shaking. I fumble and start over. I do better the second time, but halfway through, I hear the deep voice of a police officer. He calls into the darkness, and the glare of a flashlight streaks across the room. I tell myself not to stop. Keep playing.

I play as if my life depends on it. And when I reach the end of the song, something shines brightly into my eyes. Is it the flashlight? No. It’s afternoon sunlight pouring through my bedroom window. I’m home!