Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

I’m not ready for Mrs. Porter to put me on a bus. I just got here, and tell them I’m not with the choir. I’d like to stay for the meeting. Melody asks if she can stay too, and Mrs. Porter agrees, as long as they walk home afterward. Melody thanks her grandma.

After Mrs. Porter leaves, teenagers file into the room, and Melody watches the door until her sister arrives. Yvonne is a pretty young woman in an orange blouse and patterned headscarf, a cast on her left wrist. She hugs Melody, surprised to see her, then steps to the front to thank everyone for coming, especially those from other churches who joined the Student Walk to Freedom Club. Some just got back from the Mississippi Summer Project with a lot to discuss. Together, everyone is making a difference for Black people across the country.

I whisper to ask Melody what the Mississippi Summer Project is. Melody explains that college students, Black and White, went to help register Black voters and set up Freedom Schools for kids. Yvonne says voting is important, and I mention Dad says that too. He’s a politician who’s always talking about getting out to vote. Melody is surprised, looking at me with something like pride for Dad, though I hope she doesn’t ask for details, since I’m not entirely sure what he does beyond traveling to Washington a lot. Politics seem like grown-up stuff.

I struggle to focus on Yvonne’s speech, distracted by the room full of young people, most older than us but younger than the crowds at Dad’s speeches. Suddenly Yvonne looks right at us, saying there’s plenty girls like me and Melody can do to help Black people in Detroit. Melody leans forward, ready to get started.

Yvonne lists stuffing envelopes, making posters, and cooking for volunteers, all things I can do. Then, clipboard in hand, she asks about host families for out-of-towners this week. I’m not on the list. Where will I stay? Melody’s already ahead of me, offering her own house. I hadn’t planned to stay overnight, just to hear what the meeting was about, but maybe a couple of days would be nice.

Melody smiles and calls her mother on the Black telephone, spinning its dial with her finger. Her mom says yes. She asks if I need to call home too, but I hesitate: Mom is still at her office, not missing me, and I couldn’t reach her from an old phone in 1964 anyway.

I tell Melody it’s fine. My parents want me involved in things like this, which is true. Dad would love that I’m learning about helping people vote, and Mom cares about kids getting a good education. Maybe later I’ll ask if she knows about the Mississippi Summer Project.

After the meeting, Melody and I walk to her house through the sticky August afternoon. Passing a park, she pauses: her friends fixed it up this spring, starting a Junior Block Club, painting benches, planting flowers, even growing vegetables. I’m astonished they did it themselves. Anika and I once tried building a treehouse and gave up after half a day. Melody admits they had help from Miss Esther across the street, and her grandpa with the garden. Maybe that’s why Melody wasn’t scared hearing Yvonne talk about making a difference. She’s already doing it in her own community.

Melody pushes open the park gate, and we hop down a hopscotch board and hang upside down on the jungle gym. She asks what grade I’m going into, and when I say fifth, she grins. She is too. I already know we’ll be great friends.