Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

Melody and I decide to go to the Emancipation Celebration, mostly to spend time with her cousin, Val. Poppa borrows Melody’s dad’s station wagon so we can all go together. In the backseat, I’m surprised to find we’re facing backward, looking at the cars behind us. It feels strange, until Melody and Val start waving at the drivers, trying to get them to wave back at every stoplight. Val’s mom, Cousin Tish, sits beside Big Momma in the middle seat, and Cousin Charles sits beside Poppa.

Soon the sound of the road beneath our wheels changes, and I see the green rails of a large bridge ahead. My stomach wobbles. I’m afraid of bridges. Melody explains we’re crossing the Ambassador Bridge into Canada. Val clutches my arm. Melody told me Val’s family moved to Detroit only a year ago, so this might be her first time crossing a big bridge too. That makes me feel a bit better.

By the time we’re over the bridge, we’re in Canada. I can’t believe I crossed into another country in just a few minutes. Traffic around the celebration is crazy, and we follow a long line of cars toward Jackson Park. Cousin Charles says he’s never seen anything like it. He read there might be up to a quarter million people here this weekend.

Somehow we find a parking spot among what looks like a thousand cars. Cousin Charles opens the door for us. He has a mustache and beard like Poppa’s, but he’s tall and skinny.

After we pile out of the car, Poppa wants to take Cousin Charles to get some barbecued ribs, but Big Momma stops him. The parade is about to start, and she isn’t about to let us get separated in the crowd. So we all stick together and follow the sound of cheering toward the parade.

In the parade, a float filled with young women passes us. Melody says they’re the Miss Sepia beauty contestants. They’re all in elegant dresses with poufy hairdos. Miss International Sepia is a big contest held here every year, just for Black contestants, and there’s a talent show too. Dwayne once said The Supremes performed here, back before they signed with Motown, when they were still called The Primettes.

I’ve heard of The Supremes before, but I can’t remember any of their songs. Melody sighs that it’s too bad we’re all too young to enter. I’m relieved, though. I can’t imagine performing in front of all these people.

After the beauty contestants pass, a marching band comes into view, so loud I clap my hands over my ears, though my foot taps with the drumbeat, and I notice Melody’s does too. More bands roll by, and people wave to us from the floats. There’s so much energy here, and I’m sad when the last vehicle disappears and the parade ends.

Poppa doesn’t seem sad. He and Charles are ready for those ribs, but Big Momma says it’s time for church service. It’s Spiritual and Gospel Day, and a reverend from Atlanta speaks at three. She wants us close to the stage, so when she sets off, we follow her like ducklings.

We pass craft booths and food stands, and I even spot a pet show in the distance, but Big Momma pushes us on toward a big stage. A thousand people must be standing on the grassy lawn in front of it. Big Momma shoots Poppa a look that says she told him so.

We’re nowhere near the stage, but the reverend’s clear voice carries over the speakers. He talks about prejudice and civil rights, saying no force in the world can stand in the way of Black people’s God-given freedom. Murmurs of approval ripple through the crowd.

As the reverend keeps talking about progress, I think about Al and Josephine, and all the people standing in the way of their performance hall. Melody notices my face and asks what’s wrong. When I tell her, she says she’s been thinking about them too, and wishes they could open a hall somewhere else so they could keep playing their music.

When the sermon ends, Poppa finally says we can get those ribs. Maybe this year he’ll figure out Mr. Walter Perry’s secret barbecue sauce. I ask who Walter Perry is, and Melody says he started the festival long ago, and the sauce is his own top-secret recipe. Melody’s stomach growls loudly. She asks Big Momma if we can get ribs too, and Big Momma nods.

The barbecue sauce is rich and tangy, dripping onto my chin more than once. While we eat, we watch a slow race, motorcycles creep along the lawn, and the winner is whoever drives slowest. Val laughs. This race could take a while.

When the evening choir service starts, I watch Val sway to the music, holding Cousin Tish’s hand and singing along to songs she knows. She loves music as much as Melody and I do. The music fills us up, and I start to feel more hopeful about Al and Josephine again. Music always makes me feel better.

When the choir finishes, I stifle a yawn. It’s late, but Big Momma wants to stay to hear a speaker she calls Prophet Jones.

After a lot of waiting, the sun starts to set, and Poppa says we should head back to the car. But then a boy climbs onstage, standing on tiptoe to reach the microphone. He’s probably only six or seven, and when he starts to sing, the crowd claps and cheers. I don’t know the song, but he sings really well.

Big Momma laughs, saying Prophet Jones isn’t as old as she expected. Melody asks if that’s really him, and Big Momma chuckles that it’s just a little boy who saw his chance to shine. Melody shoots me a look, then pulls Val and me aside. Should we perform something?

Nerves run through my chest. Here? Melody says there’s a piano onstage, and like Big Momma said, this could be our chance to shine. Maybe we’ll even be discovered by a talent scout, like The Supremes.

Val looks nervous but says it beats waiting out here, and that’s true. I feel less sleepy now. But what would we even perform? Melody thinks a moment, then says she and I know a couple of the same songs.