The Naked Mole-Rat Letters

by Mary Amato

  “Whenever you’re ready,” my dad whispered to him.

  Johnny started to play, and at first it sounded like his fingers were tripping over each other. Inside I was dying. I was the one who had encouraged him to sign up. I’d be the one to blame when he spent the rest of his life getting laughed at.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dad nod at him and take a deep breath, as if he could make Johnny relax by breathing for him. Slowly the sounds that Johnny was making started sorting themselves out into a tune. It was that tune he had played for me in his trailer, except now he was playing it with a rock-and-roll beat. He looked straight ahead and started to sing.

  You can tell me what to study.

  You can tell me where to go.

  You can tell me what to memorize.

  The facts I need to know.

  His voice grew stronger.

  But you can’t tell me what to learn.

  You can’t tell me what to see.

  You can’t make me think like you.

  Everybody’s free.

  He hunched over and played so hard I thought his strings would break. But that old guitar held up, and Johnny’s song rolled out like a pickup truck going one hundred miles per hour. Every time he sang another verse, he got stronger. When he got to the end, he played his last chord and looked up, surprised to see everybody staring at him.

  The crowd was silent, and then there was an avalanche of clapping and cheering.

  Dad’s grin almost split his face in two. “That was Johnny Nye, folks!” More applause.

  Johnny threw me a smile.

  “Jump in, Johnny,” my dad said. “We’re doing ‘Give Me Your Hand.’” He counted out four beats, and we started playing. Johnny watched the chords our guitarist was playing, and he joined in.

  Beth and all the others looked like they had just seen a frog turn into a prince.

  When it was over, we bowed, and everybody clapped some more. Johnny left the stage, and the Red Beet Ramblers began a set of reels and jigs. Everybody got up to dance the Pepper two-step. I don’t know how it started, but the whole town does this one crazy dance, sort of like a square dance without the square.

  I put my dulcimer away and went over to Johnny.

  “That was great,” I said.

  Mr. Haxer barged in and shook Johnny’s hand. “Johnny, your voice is just terrific! I had no idea. Promise me you’ll try out for the spring musical.”

  Johnny looked at me, shocked. Ms. Young came next. “Did you write that song yourself, Johnny Nye?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, you’ve got a real talent. Keep at it.”

  His face flooded with color.

  Ms. Young grabbed her husband-to-be and whirled him onto the dance floor.

  A bunch of kids from school were standing by the bales, watching us.

  “I think we’re being spied on, Johnny,” I said.

  “Looks like it,” he replied.

  The Ramblers started in on “Soldier’s Joy,” and Ozzie’s boots started thump-thumping.

  “You want to dance?” I asked.

  He gave me this look like he wasn’t sure if I had offered him a one-way trip to heaven or hell. “I don’t really know how,” he finally said.

  “It’s easy.” I gave him my hand. “Come on.”

  I walked right into the middle of the crowd and danced with Johnny Nye, and I didn’t care who was having a heart attack at the sight.

  Later Dad invited Johnny to come with us for the Sunset Hum.

  “What do I do?” Johnny asked.

  “You’ll figure it out,” I said.

  The mood is really different at night. Everybody’s still kind of wild and crazy from all the dancing and all the food, and it doesn’t seem like anybody’s going to be able to calm down. As the sun moves lower in the sky, people start doing silly tricks, trying to juggle pinecones and balance sticks on their noses. And then gradually the sky begins to fill with color, and we start to hush up.

  Tonight the sun was particularly pretty, full and red, and the sky went from blue to orange as it lowered. And when the bottom of the sun touched the horizon line, my dad started singing a loud “ah” sound.

  Everybody joined in, as loud as possible. Johnny looked at all of us like we were insane, then he started. You sing as long as you can, then you take a breath and keep going, Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

  I looked at the glowing sun, feeling my “ah” joining with Johnny’s voice, and my dad’s voice, and Skip’s and Nutter’s voices, and all the voices of everybody on Chestnut Hill. I felt the “ah” filling up my whole body and shooting out through the soles of my feet. I felt the “ah” tunneling through the earth, joining the voices of all the animals and insects, joining the voice of the earth itself.

  As the sun began to sink, sending ripples of red and orange and gold and pink out across the bottom of the sky, our “ah” turned to a hum and grew softer and softer. And when the last rush of light flared, redder than ten thousand tomatoes, I closed my eyes, sure that even if I were deaf and blind, I’d be able to feel the beauty of the Hum and the sky right through my skin and all the way to my heart.

  Do you ever have those moments where everything around you feels alive? When you know that the sky and the trees and the grass and even the rocks are alive? When you know you’re going to keep on loving everybody, even though nobody’s perfect; and you know that they’re going to keep on loving you, even though you’re not perfect?

  I hope you come to Pepper Blossom sometime. I really want you to see all this.

  Love,

  Frankie