Excerpt: THE MUSIC WITHIN YOUR HEART by Isaac Miller
Chapter1:
DestinyDelayed:
TheTrip Down Memory Lane
Summer
July19th, 1963
Thesun began to rise as I woke up in the backseat of my dad’s car after cryingmyself to sleep. The day was dismal, and the summer air was deprived of oxygen.An air conditioner from one’s car or home was the only thing that could providea cooling reprieve in California during the summer of 1963. I opened my eyesand reunited with my unwanted fate. Slowly, I lifted my head off the backseatand wiped the morning crust from my eyes. While removing potato chip crumbsfrom my blue jeans, I adjusted my dark green T-shirt and my pigtail hair style,that was becoming for a child with my round face.
Istared out the back window. My heart inched farther away from my true love asmy dad increased his speed. I sighed. My dad should really slow down and turnaround so that I can get back to my boyfriend. Just look at him up there, he’sdriving me away from my man. I slammed both of my fists against the backseat asmy emotions erupted. “This year is by far the worst year of my life. My daycouldn’t get any worse. Perfect timing, Mom and Dad. Brilliant idea! Just packup and move two days after I lost the California State Spelling Bee. Noweveryone is going to think we moved to a new city because I’m a loser!” My dadslightly turned his head to his right and side-eyed me. My mother just scoffed.
Mymother and father glanced at me through the rearview mirror. As the sunradiated through my father’s light brown skin, his smooth oval-shaped browneyes accentuated his unblemished skin. He looked at my mom and she smirkedwhile staring into my dad’s eyes with a countenance of trust. I exhaled andfolded my arms while rolling my eyes. I would love for my mom to do something otherthan always following my dad’s lead. My mom turned away from him and leanedback into the car seat. My mom’s perfectly symmetrical face resembled the MonaLisa. Her long eyelashes jumped out onto an onlooker’s eyes, and her lips werepositioned atop a wonderful physique, one that displayed the anatomy of aperfect woman.
Theycontinued to sit in silence while I wrestled to filter through my heart’sbroken thoughts. I laid back on the seat, then suddenly rose again, eager toresolve my plight. I breathed in deeply and released a boisterous sigh. My dadglances at me through the rearview mirror, raising his eyebrows. I hated to saygoodbye and leave my best friend alone, with all our secrets buried in themidnight forest. I can’t believe my dad is forcing me to move away fromeverything I love. I wish my parents could read my mind. I’m trying my best notto think about everything I’m leaving behind as we travel across this stupidbridge. I continued to empty out my emotions while crossing the Golden Gate Bridgefrom Marin County to head toward our new abode in San Francisco. Filled withrage, I said, “Dad, this isn’t fair! You know I didn’t want to move.” My dadstared at me, but he was silent.
Whilelistening to the luggage move around in the trunk, I couldn’t help but think:Why did my dad allow the broken community of Novato to force us into exile? Myfather delivered the news that we were moving six months ago during a familymeeting. I felt like I was mentally prepared to move, but as this dreaded day drewnear, I realized that my heart wasn’t ready to leave my best friend. My dad ranover the leg of a chair, and the bump jolted our heads into the air like arocket. I frowned and held back the rage that was rushing toward my lips. Ifelt like screaming. I positioned my right foot in front of me, ready to kickthe back of my dad’s seat, but I changed my mind. Geesh—Dad. Why can’t you seethat I am in love? I really wish things could stay the same. I miss him so muchalready.
Whenmy father delivered the news that we were moving, I stood up from the kitchentable as my mom and dad stared at one another. The chilling glance they gave mewas too much to bear. Instantly, their stares filled my heart’s eyes like amachine gun’s relentless onslaught. I felt their intense disappointment in me.During that moment I discovered that the human heart is more powerful thanthe-all- encompassing human brain. Sammie is my addiction and my emotionalhigh. I reacted to their stares with a sprint as my dad shouted, “Sophia, getback over here!” What a memory.
Thisis a bumpy car ride. I frowned while thinking of my love, looking at the backof my dad’s head. I should’ve kicked his stupid seat earlier. I looked up atthe wagon’s ceiling before proceeding with my thoughts. My parents aren’t awarethat their synchronized voices interrupted my resolve to revisit the thoughtsthat only the love of my life knows. I can still hear his gentle but maturingvoice like it was yesterday, whispering in my heart, “Sophia, get down, don’tjump!” His earthshaking voice saved my soul. I sighed. The reality of losingSammie pushed me to entertain thoughts of executing an idea, one that theracist community of Novato would have been proud of. Since we are apart now, Iwish he’d let me finish what I started in the midnight forest.
Ishook my head and smiled. Exactly who was I trying to fool? I couldn’t resistSammie’s piercing blue eyes; they complimented his curly blonde hair extremelywell. He has the cutest little cheeks I’ve ever seen. I especially love howthey rose whenever he used to sing to me. The night he rescued me, he looked atme like I was the most important person alive. I placed my hand over myheart. I never got my chance to tell him that I love him too. My heartcompelled me to stare out of the back window at the life I was leaving behind.I was grief-stricken with my first heartache.
Idried my eyes with my hand. I could feel my tears drop out of my pupils everysecond that my dad’s car inched away from Sammie. I scoffed. My face lookedlike a waterfall. I rolled my right hand through my hair to feel the gentlenessof my curls. Love will make you do some crazy things. I really need my Sammie,and no one is keeping me away from him. I screamed and pleaded for my dad toturn the car around. I forced them, especially my dad, to recall the despicablereasons why he decided it was best for us to move. Before I could say mybrother’s name, my dad turned around to straighten me out. We swerved into themiddle lane as my dad lost focus and said, “Don’t you dare accuse me of notbeing fair ever again! My job is to protect my family, and besides, yourbrother would have been a little more supportive than what you’redemonstrating.”
Iscooted forward while sliding my butt against the car’s backseat, with both ofmy fists clenched together like I was ready to battle. I’ll regain my happinessby force. I grabbed onto both sides of my dad’s car seat. “I beg to disagree,you’re totally wrong Dad! You didn’t know Timmy like me.”
My dadimmediately reacted. He lost his cool after his eardrums embraced the painfulthump of my brother’s name echoing throughout his memories. He slammed on thebrakes and stopped the car in the middle lane of the Golden Gate bridge,turning on the emergency lights and parking his car right in the middle lanelike it was a parking lot. My mother screamed.
“Anthony,what are you doing?” He ignored her. Several people stared and passed usby, gazing with perplexed eyes. My mom placed her left hand on the glovecompartment and rolled the window down to expunge the saliva that sank into herthroat from an adrenaline rush. As sweat broke through her skin, she quicklyobserved the awkwardness of our family scene.
Mymother was frantic, but she calmly asked my dad to put the car back into drive.
My dadchuckled, pressing down onto the gas to antagonize her. He politely uttered aword my mom hated to hear. My father said, “No.”
Insilence, we listened to the sounds of cars pass us by at sixty to a hundredmiles an hour. It seemed like we were trapped motionless in time, then I heardmy mom’s predictable words. She placed her right hand on her heart, as thoughshe was executing the pledge of allegiance, and stared at my father as herubbed his hands down his face, with what appeared to me to be enough force totear his own skin.
Thenmy mother erupted like a volcano. “You know, I was going to try to just moveforward without addressing this with you. But now, I see that we need to havethis conversation right now.” My father glanced at her. “Don’t give me thatlook like you’re an innocent child. I know you very well, so I know what you’rethinking.” My mom shook her head. “Yes, Anthony, we’re having this talk rightnow in the middle of this freaking bridge!” My dad looked at her with a look ofreticence as she continued in a lower tone, “Yes, we’re having thisconversation. It’s been a year since his death, and we still haven’t addressedit as a family.” She faced my dad, and in a nonaggressive way, pointed herfinger at him. “You can’t keep telling me you don’t want to talk about it.” Mydad sighed, tapping on the steering wheel. “Anthony, you didn’t even come toyour own son’s funeral. Why? Because you’ve convinced yourself that hismurder was your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
It wasrare to observe my old man in silence. But on that fateful day, my mom wasletting him have it.
Theycontinued to argue over the next ten minutes while I recalled the final fourweeks of my brother’s life.
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