Something She Can Feel

“But you said the music is just as important as the song,” she added. “It’s the tradition.”

“Why hide behind the music?” I asked rhetorically. “If we want people to feel the words, let’s give them something they can feel ... our voices.”

“You joking, right?” Zenobia asked.

“No. Let’s do it.” I clapped and went to hit the key, so they could remember the pitch. “When I raise my hands—just like I do with the music—you guys just start on this chord.” I hit the key a few times so they could hear it.

Each on their own time, they straightened up at this new challenge. Listened to the note and watched eagerly for me to begin. I’d seen them, time and again, at their best, but with this experiment, they seemed better than their best—they were interested. They had to depend upon one another to hear where they were to go to next. The sopranos looked at one another. The tenors stood more closely together. And the altos turned their ears to the center of the crowd. And while we had some bumps and struggles along the way and had to begin again a few times, what I heard and what they heard, what the trees outside heard, was beautiful.

Without the music, the youth in their voices could be heard. The song was reborn with new life.

“We really gonna get to sing the song like that at graduation?” Opal asked after class had ended.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“But it was good. It sounded real good. Don’t you think?”

“It did. But it would need a lot of practice to be ready to present to everyone. It’s not easy to sing a cappella. Especially not out in a field in front of a thousand people who are used to hearing it a different way.”

“But what if we practice every day and get better?”

“We only have five more days to practice next week,” I said. “And half of you already refuse to come after school.”

“Please!” she begged, grabbing my arm. “It’ll be the bomb.”

“Oh, girl, calm down,” I said. “I’ll think about it and let you know. But I’ll tell you right now, we may be able to do a new arrangement, but we’ll probably need accompaniment. People are used to hearing it that way at our graduation. It’s all about tradition.”

“Okay!” She grinned, straightened up and darted out of the classroom with the rest of her friends.

“She might be onto something,” Kayla said, coming into the classroom.

“Hey there,” I said.

“You all sound great.”

“Thanks. We were just trying something different today. It’s hard to keep them interested. Especially so late in the year.”

“They sounded interested to me,” she said. “Usually, I can’t hear them above the music. But today, they were quite a force.”

“What are you doing back here?” I asked. The math and science classes were in a whole different wing. Nothing was at the back of the hallway by the chorus room, except one of the janitor’s closets and a door that led to the parking lot.

“Richard.” She grinned, and I saw hot cookies all over her smile. “He sneaks up here before fourth period and we have a

soda together.”

“A soda? You sound like you’re in high school.”

“That’s what it feels like,” she said. “And I love it.”

“That’s sweet,” I said.

“What about you?” she asked nonchalantly. “You seem a little sweet, too, lately. Got everyone talking about how happy you look. Some of the students say you’re pregnant.”

“Me?” I laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not pregnant. I’m just ... I’m ...”

“What?” she pushed to break my nervous pause.

“I’m happy.”