Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

After dinner, Melody and I sit on the front steps and make a plan. I admit I’m scared to go to the demonstration, and Melody, relieved, says she feels the same. But we have to help Auntie Josephine and Uncle Al, who are losing everything, even their piano.

I joke that maybe we could buy them a new one if we win a million dollars, and Melody laughs that a million could buy a whole new building. For some reason, an image of Dad pops into my mind, and I jump up. We can do a fundraiser, just like he does for his campaigns. Melody looks awestruck to learn he’s a politician, the same way I felt learning Dwayne was a recording artist. We can ask people to help Al and Josephine get a new piano.

Melody takes a deep breath, saying it might not be easy. Her Junior Block Club wrote letters to the Parks Department for new playground swings, and it still took forever to get help. She doesn’t know what to write about a piano for two people. My hopes sink, then I realize. If we want to raise money for a piano, we need to talk to people who care about music as much as we do.

Melody’s eyes light up. She knows exactly where to find people like that: her church. When I ask about doing a concert there, she chews her lip. We can ask Miss Dorothy, but there’s already a concert on the calendar Tuesday night: my concert.

I pause. Melody explains it’s the traveling church choir, and worry nibbles at my stomach since I’m not really part of that choir. I tell her I’d rather do a fundraiser with her instead. Her face softens. We can ask Miss Dorothy if we can play something in the middle of the performance, then ask the congregation to donate toward the new piano.

My worry is gone, replaced by pride. Melody and I came up with a good idea together, and Dad would be proud of me too.

On Monday, Miss Dorothy loves the idea. Now we just need to pick a song we already know well enough to practice quickly. Sitting on Big Momma’s couch like we did Saturday night, we both say “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” at the same time. At Big Momma’s piano, I’m thrilled my fingers still remember the notes, and Melody knows every word too, from her youth choir. We practice until it’s polished.

Then it strikes me. I won’t look the part Tuesday night. I have nothing fancy to wear. When I tell Melody, a huge grin spreads across her face, and she says she can help with that.