Music in My Heart: My Journey with Melody

Yvonne drives Melody and me to a meeting hall already full of volunteers, young and old. Signs on the wall read “Elect John Conyers Jr. for Congress,” and I whisper that Dad was elected to Congress too. Melody overhears and asks what he does. I mumble something about creating jobs so people get paid enough.

Melody nods. If people don’t earn enough, they work double shifts, like Daddy does at the auto factory, which is why he’s gone so much.

Melody’s words linger as we take our seats. I’d never thought about it that way. What Dad does matters for families like Melody’s too.

We tag-team stuffing envelopes, me folding, Melody sliding them in, until it gets boring. Then Yvonne whispers that someone special is here. I turn to see an older woman in glasses nearby, an umbrella poking out from the back of her chair. It’s Rosa Parks.

Rosa Parks! Anika wrote a report about her last year. She’s the Black woman who refused to give up her bus seat to a White person; she’s considered “the mother of the civil rights movement.” Yvonne says she’s stuffing envelopes just like us. She lives in Detroit now and works constantly with young people and politicians behind the scenes. I can’t believe she’s here. Our boring job suddenly feels important.

Melody wonders if we should talk to Mrs. Parks. My heart races at the thought, but I hesitate too long, and Mrs. Parks pushes away from the table, says a few goodbyes, and heads for the door. Once she’s gone, Melody slumps in her chair, unable to believe we didn’t say a word. What would we even have said? My tongue would’ve tied itself in knots. Melody sighs, agreeing.

Then I notice Mrs. Parks’s umbrella, still hanging from the chair. Maybe we should chase her down with it. Yvonne slides into the seat beside me and asks who we’re chasing.