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! So I tell them that I’m not with the choir. I would like to stay for the meeting. Melody says maybe she can stay, too. Mrs. Porter says that’s all right, but we’ll have to walk home after. Melody nods, and thanks her grandma.

After she leaves, teenagers begin to file into the room. Melody keeps her eye on the door until her sister comes in. Yvonne is a pretty young woman, wearing an orange blouse and a patterned scarf over her head. There’s a cast on her left wrist. She gives her sister a hug, saying she didn’t expect Melody to be here. And then she steps to the front of the room and thanks everyone for joining them. And a huge thanks to all of those who came from other churches in town to the Student Walk to Freedom Club. Some people just got back from the Mississippi Summer Project, and they have a lot to discuss. Together, everyone is making a difference for black people all across the country.

I whisper to ask Melody what the Mississippi Summer Project is. She leans over and says it’s a bunch of college students, black and white, who went to Mississippi to help black people register to vote. And they set up Freedom Schools for black kids. Yvonne says that voting is important. I know, and say that my dad says that, too. He’s a politician, and he’s always saying how important it is to get out and vote. Melody is surprised that my dad is a politician. The way she looks at me makes me feel proud for my dad. But I hope she doesn’t ask for more details because I’m not exactly sure what my dad does. He travels to Washington D.C. a lot, but I don’t know what he does there. Politics seem like grown-up stuff.

I have trouble paying attention to Yvonne’s speech because I’m busy looking around the room. It’s full of young people. Most of them are older than Melody and me, but they’re still younger than the people who show up at my dad’s speeches. All of a sudden, Yvonne looks right at me and Melody and says there’s plenty we can do to help black people in Detroit. And that’s where we all come in. What can girls like me and Melody do? I look over at Melody, but she’s leaning forward, like she’s ready to get started.

Yvonne tells us that we can help stuff envelopes, make posters, and help cook food for volunteers. These all sound like things I can do. Then Yvonne picks up a clipboard and says that we should talk about where we’ll be staying this week. Those of us from out of town have been paired with host families from the church. She asks if anyone has not met their family yet. Oh no. I’m not on that list. Where will I stay? But Melody is way ahead of me. She says that I can stay with her if I don’t have another place. I shake my head. I didn’t plan on staying overnight. I just wanted to hear what the meeting was about. But maybe I would like to stay for a couple days.

Melody smiles and says she’ll call Mommy. She uses the black telephone on the card table, lifting the phone to her ear and using her finger to spin a round wheel at the base of the phone. When she hangs up, I can tell that her mom said yes. She asks if I need to call home, too. I hesitate. Back home, Mom is still working in her office. She’s not missing me. And I even if she were, I can’t call her from an old phone in 1964.

I told Melody that it’s okay. My parents want me to get involved in things like this. And that’s true. My dad would be excited to know I’m learning about helping other people vote. Mom is all about kids getting a good education. Maybe later, I can ask her if she knows about the Mississippi Summer Project.

After the meeting, Melody and I walk to her house. It’s a sticky August afternoon, but the walk gives us time to talk. As we pass a park, Melody pauses and says that her friends and her just fixed this all up. They started a Junior Block Club this spring, and they painted the benches and planted the flowers. They’re even growing vegetables. I’m astonished. Melody and her friends did that all by themselves. Anika and I tried to build a treehouse in our neighborhood once, but we gave up after a half a day. It seemed like too much work for kids. Melody admits that they had help from Miss Esther, who lives across the street. And her grandpa helped them plant the vegetable garden. Wow. Maybe that’s why Melody didn’t seem scared listening to Yvonne talking about how we can make a difference. Melody is already doing it around her community.

Melody pushes open a gate to the park, and I follow her as we hop down a hopscotch board painted on the sidewalk. And soon we’re hanging upside down in the jungle gym. She asks what grade I’m going into this year, and I say I’m going into fifth grade. Melody says she is, too. She flashes me a smile and I know we will be great friends.