Читать книгу Never Stop Singing - Denise Lewis Patrick - Страница 8

n the afternoon on New Year’s Day, Melody sorted through the neat stack of records in the living room to find just the right music for her birthday celebration. As she flipped past names she’d heard on the radio or seen on TV, she imagined one day picking up a record with Dwayne’s name on it. Today would be absolutely perfect if only he were here, too, she thought.

Melody was only halfway through the stack when the doorbell rang.

“Happy Birthday to yooouuu!” Sharon and Diane sang as Melody opened the door.

“Are we too early?” Sharon asked, peeling off her coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. “My dad wanted to drop us off before his football game came on.”

“My daddy’s upstairs right now listening to a game on the radio,” Melody laughed. “And you’re right on time.”

“What’re you doing?” Diane asked, hanging her jacket over Sharon’s. She gave Melody a tube-shaped package tied with yarn at either end. It looked like a big piece of candy.

Melody put the package on the coffee table and motioned toward the record player. “I’m trying to find some music.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if your brother and his group could be here to sing?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah! A live concert would be so cool!” Diane said.

“It would,” Melody nodded. “But The Three Ravens aren’t in Detroit. They sang at a New Year’s concert somewhere in Ohio last night.”

“Too bad,” Sharon said, sorting through the records lying on the sofa. “Hey! Here’s Little Stevie Wonder’s ‘Fingertips.’” Melody put the record on the turntable and carefully moved the needle arm to its edge.

“This is birthday music!” Sharon hopped up, and the girls began to dance.

Sharon was right. The sounds of the harmonica and Stevie Wonder’s 12-year-old voice made Melody want to move, laugh, celebrate, and sing. They danced their way across the floor and into the dining room.

Melody barely dodged the kitchen door as her mother opened it, carrying the triple-chocolate cake on a blue glass plate.

“Whoa, there, birthday girl!” Mrs. Ellison said, placing the cake safely in the center of the table. Melody stopped. Sharon and Diane froze.

“Sorry, Mommy!” Melody said, still bopping her head to the music.

“Sorry, Mrs. Ellison!” Diane chimed in.

“Me, too!” Sharon said.

Melody’s mother gave them a hard look, but then smiled and shook her shoulders and bopped her head a few beats, too. Sharon burst out laughing.

Mrs. Ellison shrugged. “Who can keep still when it’s Little Stevie Wonder?” she asked.

As if the music had stirred the entire house into movement, all at once Daddy, Yvonne, and Lila trooped downstairs. Then there was a knock at the front door, and at the same time the telephone rang and someone was coming into the kitchen from the back door.

Mommy went into the kitchen to answer the phone as Yvonne answered the front door. In came Melody’s grandparents and her cousins. In the blink of an eye, the dining room was filled with people. Melody didn’t know which way to turn first.

“Happy Birthday, chick!” Big Momma was first to give Melody a hug.

“Big Ten!” Cousin Charles said. “Congratulations!”

“Happy Birthday, baby.” Cousin Tish gave Melody a kiss. “Love that hairstyle!” she whispered, fluffing Melody’s curled bangs. Val, peeking from behind her mother, rolled her eyes and grinned. When she stepped forward, Melody saw that she was holding a small box with a bow on it.

“This is for you,” Val said. “Happy, Happy!”

“Gee! I forgot your present!” Sharon said, rushing to the hooks by the front door to dig into her coat pocket. She came back with a soft, tissue-paper-wrapped package. “Sorry, it got a little squished,” she said.

Melody didn’t care. She was so pleased to have all—nearly all—of her family and friends together on her special day that everything felt pretty wonderful.

“How about we get some candles for this cake and celebrate our birthday girl?” Melody’s father rubbed his hands together and winked at her. He loved Mommy’s triple-chocolate cake just as much as Melody did.

“Here we go!” Yvonne placed ten tiny blue candles atop the chocolate frosting in a circle, and another in the middle.

“To grow on,” she laughed.

“Ready to sing, everybody?” Lila pulled Melody to stand right in front of her cake, and Daddy lit the candles.

“Where’s Mommy?” Melody looked over her shoulder.

“Here!” Her mother stepped in from the kitchen, breathless.

“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Melody. Happy birthday to you!”

Melody was beaming. She loved when her family sang together—it was almost like they had their own choir, the way all their voices blended and harmonized in just the right ways! She took a breath but didn’t blow out the candles yet. In her family, there was one more verse of the birthday song to sing. Melody smiled and looked around at all their faces, waiting. Suddenly, a solo voice came from the kitchen. It was a high tenor, almost like Smokey Robinson’s.

“How o-old are you? How o-old are you? My kid sister, Dee-Dee…”

“Dwayne!” Melody squealed, throwing open the kitchen door.

“How o-old are you?” Dwayne finished singing and gave her a bear hug. “Didn’t I tell you when I left that I’d show up when you didn’t expect it? Happy Birthday!”

Melody pulled Dwayne into the room.

“Well, I declare!” Tish laughed.

“When did you get here?” Lila asked.

Melody noticed that the only people who didn’t seem surprised were her mother and father.

“Parents know how to keep secrets, too,” Daddy said. “And it was a good one, wasn’t it?”

“The best ever!” Melody agreed. Since Dwayne had started working for Motown, he was rarely at home. And when his singing group did come back to town, he spent more time at the studio and at his bandmate Phil’s house than he did with the family. Their father wasn’t very happy about that, but now they were both smiling, and Melody was glad her birthday had brought them together.

“Let’s cut this cake. I’m starved!” Dwayne said. He turned to Melody and gave her a bow. “Birthday girls first, of course.”

Melody sat on the floor between Diane and Val with her paper party plate balanced on her knees. Everyone was listening to her brother’s stories about traveling around the country with the famous Motown singers. He was telling how he’d accidentally almost tripped one of The Supremes backstage when Val nudged Melody with an elbow.

“When are you going to open your presents?” she whispered, not very quietly.

Dwayne stopped mid-sentence. “Val, they call that a ‘stage whisper,’” he laughed, “because the audience is supposed to hear it, too.”

Val ducked her head in embarrassment. “Sorry, Dwayne!”

Charles shook his head. “I believe our Valerie likes watching other folks open presents as much as she likes opening presents herself!”

Val had already scrambled up to get Melody’s gifts and cards, bringing them to her.

“Open mine first,” Sharon said eagerly.

“No, wait.” Dwayne went back into the kitchen and came out carrying a record album. “I didn’t exactly have time to wrap it,” he told his sister.

Melody looked carefully at the bright red cover, and the three young black women looking over their shoulders in the picture. Big orange letters announced the album’s artists, Martha and The Vandellas. The album was called Heat Wave. That was the name of one of Melody’s favorite songs.

Scrawled across the lower corner was a handwritten message. Melody read it out loud: “Happy Birthday, Dee-Dee. Stay Cool. Martha.” Melody’s mouth dropped open.

Sharon, Val, and Lila crowded around to see.

“Wow, Dwayne! Martha Reeves is one of the hottest stars at Motown right now,” Yvonne said. “She’s world famous!”

Melody looked at Dwayne. “You got Martha Reeves to autograph it for me?” she asked.

Dwayne shrugged and nodded, but he looked pleased that Melody liked her gift.

“Do you really know her?” Sharon asked, starstruck.

“Sort of,” he said. “I mean, we’re at the studio at the same time…sometimes.”

“Thank you, Dwayne,” Melody said. “You’re the best brother ever.”

“That’s something special,” Big Momma said. As Melody passed the album to her grandmother, she saw her father squinting at it.

“How long before we see your face on something like this?” Daddy asked, looking over at Dwayne. Melody shot a look at her brother.

“Dad, I know I have a long way to go. I’m working real hard at it. I’m hoping to get into the studio to record my own music soon.”

“I know you’ll be just as famous as Martha Reeves one day,” Melody said confidently. But Daddy just shook his head.

Melody picked up Sharon’s gift. She didn’t waste any time unwrapping carefully, the way her sisters did. She tore everything open. The tissue paper ripped away easily, and a length of shiny purple satin ribbon fell into Melody’s lap.

“It’s for Matching Mondays,” Sharon said. “My mom says purple is really hard to find, but she got enough for both of us.”

“I love it!” Melody said. Almost every Monday since she and Sharon had met in kindergarten they’d worn the same color hair ribbons to school. Melody carefully wound the ribbon into neat loops. “I got a purple plaid skirt for Christmas,” she told Sharon. “This ribbon will go with it perfectly.”

Melody was curious about the tube-shaped gift from Diane. When she pulled the paper off, she discovered a tin kaleidoscope. “Neat,” she said, holding one end up to her eye and twisting the other end. A colorful burst of patterns shifted inside the tube. “Thanks, Diane.”

Next was Val’s small box. Inside was a bright new set of jacks and a tiny rubber ball to go with them. “I know you lost one of your other set,” Val said.

“I did.” Melody gave the ball a quick test bounce, and it flew right into Yvonne’s Afro. “Oops!” Melody made a sheepish face. Yvonne simply pulled the ball out, patted her hair back into place, and smiled.

“No ball bouncing indoors!” Daddy said sternly, scooping the ball away from Yvonne. Then he reached to drop it back into its box, which Melody shut quickly. She moved on to her parents’ gift, which was wrapped in Christmas paper. It was heavier than she expected. What could it be? she wondered.

“Be careful there,” Daddy warned. Melody slipped one finger under the lid and popped it off. Inside, nested in crumpled newspapers, was a green transistor radio.

“Ohhh!” she sighed. “My very own radio. Now I can play the music stations I like whenever I want! Thank you, thank you!” Melody immediately turned the radio on and began turning the dial to tune in a station.

Dwayne snapped his fingers when music began to play. “Isn’t this a dancing party?” He reached for Melody’s hand and pulled her up from the floor. “Come on, Dee-Dee Double Digits. Let’s dance!”

Melody followed Dwayne’s smooth steps toward the dining room where the floor was clear. In seconds, Charles had gotten Tish up, Lila and Yvonne were moving to the beat, and Val and Sharon were doing a silly bird-like step.

“Are you back to stay? Did you write any new songs? When are you going to make your own record?” Melody asked Dwayne all at once.

“So many questions!” he laughed. “Am I on a quiz show?”

“No,” Melody answered. “I missed you, that’s all.”

“In that case, we’re in town for a few weeks to sing backup for some folks and work on a new song I wrote.”

“How does it go?”

Dwayne sang:

Girl, it’s time that I move,

Time for movin’ on up.

Yeah, it’s time for my move,

Time to start changing my luck.

“Oh, that sounds good,” Melody said. “I like it.”

“I do, too,” Dwayne told her. “I think it could be a hit. When we get studio time, I want you to sing it with me. I’m not kidding!”

“I know,” Melody answered. “I’ll do it.” But right now she couldn’t imagine anything better than this wonderful moment.

Dwayne took her by one hand and spun her around. She almost felt as if she were flying. Everyone was laughing. Her grandparents were clapping. She looked over her shoulder and saw her mother and father dancing, too. She closed her eyes to take a picture with her mind. She felt happy. She felt strong, as if she could do anything.

Later that evening, Melody lay across her bed holding her radio, but it wasn’t on. She was listening to her brother and sisters arguing and then laughing down in the living room, the same way they always had. She was smiling when her parents stuck their heads into her room.

“The idea was that you would listen to the radio,” her father teased, “not to your squabbling siblings.”

“I know, Daddy,” Melody laughed. She sat up as Mommy came into the room.

Her mother waved a package. “One more gift!”

Melody could tell from the shape that it was a book. Even though her mother was a math teacher, she loved to read. And she always encouraged other people—especially her children—to love reading, too.

Mommy sat on the edge of her bed. Daddy leaned against the doorway. Melody untied the ribbon and peeled away the paper. “The First Book of Rhythms, by Langston Hughes,” she read.

As long as she could remember, Melody had heard her father reading aloud poems written by the famous black author. He could even recite some Langston Hughes poems from memory. Sometimes, the poems sounded like music.

Melody flipped through her new book, surprised to see that it wasn’t poetry. It was about finding rhythms in poetry and music and even nature. She couldn’t wait to read it.

“I saw in the newspaper that Mr. Hughes is going to make an appearance at Hudson’s department store in February,” Mommy told her.

“Can we go?” Melody asked excitedly.

Mommy nodded.

Melody had started paging through the book again when a yawn snuck up on her. “I think Melody needs to listen to the rhythm of her sleep,” Daddy laughed.

Melody set the book and the radio on the shelf behind her bed and crawled under the covers. Mommy tucked her in, and Daddy kissed her on the forehead. “’Night, my ten-year-old girl.”

“’Night, Daddy,” Melody murmured. “’Night, Mommy.” Her parents went across the hall to their room, and their voices mingled with Lila’s, Yvonne’s, and Dwayne’s. Melody fell asleep listening to the rhythm of her family.