Unlocked

by Karen Kingsbury

  As the song ended and quiet fell over the gym, Ella was amazed that she could still hear some kids talking among themselves. She dabbed at the tears in her eyes. If the slide show and the Rascal Flatts song didn’t hit their hearts, what would? God, please … use me today … If they have any ability to care, please let that happen here.

  The band was next, and the students filed onto stage with their various instruments. Ella caught herself looking for Michael. He should be up there, she thought. Michael and his flute. She glanced down the row at Michael’s mother. Her arms were crossed in front of her and there seemed to be a wall between her and Michael’s father. How often had they sat together at one of Michael’s performances, Ella wondered. And were they wishing—like her—that they could have one more chance to hear Michael play?

  The band performed a song selected by the band director —“Amazing Grace.” It wasn’t a song typically played at the public high school, but no one complained and Ms. Richards had given the okay. It was a memorial service, after all. The song ended, and Ella leaned close to Holden. “Are you ready, Holden?”

  He rocked a few times, and quietly hummed the familiar tune, the one they’d worked on.

  “You’re next, okay?”

  He glanced at her, then back at his hands.

  Ms. Richards had decided that Ella would introduce the next number. She took a deep breath and made her way to the podium. In her hand, she held a folded piece of paper, and as she reached her spot on stage, she saw something that shocked her. A few rows back at the end of the row was her own mother. She had a tissue pressed to her eyes. Ella forced herself to focus. “Hello. My name is Ella Reynolds.”

  Someone near the back let out a loud, appreciative whistle. Ella ignored the sound. “I’d like to ask Susan Sessner up to the stage.”

  A few quiet giggles came from the back of the gym, the place where the PE classes were seated. Susan was maybe a hundred pounds overweight, and her hair always seemed a little too greasy. But her eyes held a light that defied the teasing she must’ve taken every day here. No question Susan had spent nights crying into her pillow. But she was also an amazing flutist. With a confidence that surprised Ella, Susan walked with her flute up to the stage and waited.

  More laughter came from another section in the gym.

  “You know …” Ella tried to control her fury, “I can hear you. Being rude that way.” Her tone was passionate, her voice louder than before. “How about you all just be quiet for once.” The sharpness of her command silenced the building for the first time that morning. Ella hesitated. “Thank you.” She gathered herself, trying to find her place again. She stared at the piece of paper in her hand. “As far as we can tell, one of the last things Michael did before he died was play his flute.” She looked intently at the place where Jake and his buddies were sitting. Finally they were quiet. Most of them had their eyes downcast. Ella continued. “Michael played his flute because he was good at it, and because he loved it.”

  In the front row, Michael’s father massaged his brow with his thumb and forefinger. His composure was cracking, for sure, and Ella figured there was a story behind his emotion. Something about the flute, maybe.

  “The song Michael loved most was ‘O Holy Night.’ “She hesitated, registering the silence throughout the gym. “He was looking forward to playing it at the Christmas concert.” She unfolded the piece of paper. “This… the music and lyrics… were the only thing he left behind, open on his bed. His final song.” Ella nodded to Susan, and the girl began softly playing the music to “O Holy Night.” As she did, Ella looked at the front row of seats. “Holden, you can come up and sing now.”

  At the mention of Holden’s name, another wave of whispers and snickers ran through the gym, loud enough that it could be heard even over the haunting soft sounds from Susan’s flute. Ella couldn’t get mad. If she did, Holden would become frightened, and the moment would be lost. Please, God … Ella exhaled slowly and kept her tone kind, but loud and clear. “You don’t think Holden Harris can sing?” Her words rang out with a fresh sense of passion. “Just because he’s different from you… because he has autism?”

  The students fell suddenly silent again. The only response to Ella’s question was an awkwardness that consumed the cavernous room. Ella let her anger pass. She smiled as Holden joined her. He brought his hands to his chin and started to flap his elbows. Ella leaned away from the microphone. “You can pray later, Holden,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

  He nodded, a rocking sort of nod. And he lowered his hands back to his sides. Ella turned to the audience. “Yes, Holden is different.” She paused and tears gathered in her voice. “Michael was different. If you look around, a lot of us are different. But we can still have a beautiful voice… a beautiful song.” She paused, studying their faces. “Do you understand what’s happening here?”

  The students shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

  “We lost Michael Schwartz because no one took time to love him.” Her voice cracked, but she fought on. The message was too important to stop now. “No one took time to hear his song.” She sniffed, struggling to find her voice. Couldn’t they understand? Didn’t they care? Michael was gone, and there was no going back, no way to make things right for him. But it wasn’t too late for Holden or Susan or any of the kids at Fulton who so badly needed love and acceptance.

  “We …” She pressed her fingers to her chest, “We failed Michael Schwartz.” A few quiet sobs shook her body. She looked at Michael’s parents. “It’s true. We failed him.” She lifted her eyes to the students again. “All of us failed him. But we don’t have to fail Holden. We … we don’t have to fail each other.”

  Around the room, she caught a few girls dabbing at their eyes. The message was getting through —even to just a few of them. Ella didn’t bother wiping her eyes. Never mind if she was crying. She wasn’t about to stop now. “Holden is a very … very beautiful person.” She looked at her mother, and the heartbreak was there for both of them. The years without Holden and his family were a loss they would live with forever. “He’s just … he’s locked up inside himself.”

  Holden’s father put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  “But you know what?” Ella was barely able to speak. “Holden’s not the only one.” She looked straight at Jake, at his crowd of followers. Her voice rose with her conviction. “A lot of kids are locked up. And it’s time we change that … We need to love each other. Now … while there’s still time.” She sniffed. “The way we should’ve loved Michael Schwartz.”

  As she stood there, as her tears overtook her, she felt Holden reach toward her. Like before in his living room, he slowly took her hand. The feel of his fingers against hers was all she needed, all it took for her to find her composure again. Thank You, God … thank You for Holden. Good would win today … it would. With God and Holden and all that was happening in his life, she had to believe that. No matter what happened with the student body at Fulton.

  “We need to come together. Think about that. Please.” Ella gave a signal to Susan, and the girl nodded. She took a long breath and began playing her flute louder than before, the sound crisp and full as it overtook the awkward silence and stifled tears among the students.

  Ella handed Holden the microphone and stepped aside. “You can do this,” she whispered again. “I’m here.”

  Holden aimed his eyes down at his feet, held tight to the mic, and began to sing. “O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining … this is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.” Every word was clear, every note sung beautifully. Ella felt herself choke up again as all around the gym, students sat straighter, amazed at what they were hearing. See, she wanted to shout out loud. Holden can sing. And he isn’t the only one with a song inside him.

  As Holden’s song grew, so did his confidence. He looked at Ella and then at Susan, the flute player. Then his eyes found the first row and he sang straight to Michael’s mother. “A thrill of hope, the weary wor
ld rejoices … for yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn.”

  Michael’s mother nodded, tears streaming down her face. Ella noticed Holden’s parents holding hands, and she saw that they were crying too. Then her eyes found her own mom. She was as broken by Holden’s performance as anyone in the room. Maybe more. Ella breathed deep, and tears fell onto her own cheeks. This was what they needed, what they all needed. Holden’s song.

  He looked from his parents to the kids in the audience. “Truly He taught us to love one another … His law is love and His gospel is peace.”

  Holden had never sounded more beautiful, not in any of their private rehearsal moments. It was as if he’d lived all his life to sing this song, to share the message of true hope and kindness with his classmates in this, one of their darkest hours. The thing with Holden was every word mattered. He didn’t talk much—though Ella believed he would one day. But his heart came through in music, and the message now was unmistakable.

  “Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother … and in His name, all oppression shall cease …”

  Ella felt as if God Himself was in attendance, as if His Holy Spirit was flooding the room with a sense of awakening, a sense of understanding and compassion that before today was completely foreign on the campus of Fulton High. Holden Harris was singing his heart out. If this were American Idol, the judges would’ve been crying—Ella was convinced.

  The song came to an end and Ella didn’t have to worry about whether she should hug Holden. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her close for a long few seconds. At the same time, the students began to clap. First a few scattered throughout the gym, and then more kids, and finally the gym was rocking with the sort of applause they never gave even for playoff basketball games.

  The sound convinced Ella that at least some of what had been shared that morning had gotten through to them. She believed that. Holden seemed nonplussed by the applause, almost unaware of it. And this time he didn’t clap along. Instead, he took the music and lyrics to “O Holy Night,” he stepped off the stage, and he walked back to the first row. When he reached Michael’s mother, he stopped and handed her the sheet of paper. With that, he sat down beside his parents.

  Ella had a longer speech planned, but in light of Holden’s song and all she’d already said, she wanted to share just one more thing. “This spring, Fulton will put on a musical—Beauty and the Beast.” She was more composed now, the tears in her eyes not enough to stop her from pushing through her final message. “It’s the story about not judging anyone by their outer appearance.” She caught Holden looking straight at her, and they shared a smile. “Because locked inside the less perfect people might be a prince.”

  The students were listening.

  “This spring, I and the other theater kids need you to come see the show. Otherwise this school will cancel the drama program, and kids like Michael and Holden—kids like me—won’t have anywhere to sing.”

  She hesitated, unabashed in her plea. “If you have any regret about Michael Schwartz, any thought that if you could do it over again you would’ve smiled at him or complimented him, or maybe even defended him from a bully … then you can do this one thing. You can come see the play. When you do … look at the orchestra, the school band. Missing will be one flute player. Michael Schwartz.

  “Let’s have him be the only Fulton student missing.” She looked at Michael’s parents. “I’m sorry. We’re all so … so sorry.”

  His parents nodded, and around the room Ella was pleased to hear some of the kids softly crying. She closed the service by praying. Never mind that this was a public school or that she wasn’t very experienced or good at praying. God didn’t care—Holden’s mother had told her that much. He wanted the hearts of his people, not perfect prayers.

  “We need you here at Fulton, dear God.” Ella felt the prayer like a cry in her soul. “Forgive us for our indifference and selfishness, and help us learn to love. Let us look more deeply at the kids around us, because all of us are locked up one way or another. And help us listen for the song of each person we come across.” She grabbed a quick breath. “Where there is meanness, let us stop it, let us be kind … and let us be the difference. Help us carry Michael in our hearts every day from here, so that his death will not be in vain. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Ms. Richards dismissed the student body, and the next few minutes passed in a blur. Ella hugged Susan Sessner, and LaShante joined her. “Girl, you have to teach me how to play the flute.” LaShante squeezed Susan’s hand. “I’m going to talk to the band director about joining.”

  “Okay.” Susan looked surprised. Girls like Ella and LaShante never talked to girls like Susan. Not before Michael’s death.

  After she’d bid a quick good-bye to her mom and Holden’s parents, after she’d hugged Michael’s mother and introduced herself to his father, Ella made her way back to class. She still felt like God had worked a miracle that day. Certainly the kids understood Holden better, and guys like Jake would have a tough time returning to business as usual when it came to mocking their classmates. But the real proof couldn’t possibly be seen just yet.

  No, Ella wouldn’t know if her peers really heard her heart, whether they’d really listened to Holden’s song, and whether they wanted to change in the wake of Michael’s death. Not until four months from now.

  On opening night for Beauty and the Beast.

  She and Holden left the gym together, and as they passed into the empty hallway Ella smiled at her friend. “You were amazing. And now everyone knows you can sing.”

  Holden seemed a little flustered, embarrassed by her compliment. He wrung his hands, keeping up with her but avoiding eye contact.

  “I hope they heard us.” She sighed, emotionally drained from all the morning had held. “I really hope they heard us.”

  Then, with the most perfect timing ever, Holden lifted his face and began to sing, the words and music speaking straight to Ella’s wounded soul. “A thrill of hope … the weary world rejoices … for yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn.”

  And so it was true with Holden, with this new friendship she had found. The thrill of hope lay fresh each morning, and even in the midst of such terrible loss and sadness, Ella could see the sunrise ahead. She willed herself to believe, the way Holden believed, that one day soon would come the day they were all looking for.

  A new and glorious morn.

  Twenty-Eight

  TRACY HAD NEVER EXPECTED THIS, NOT IN ALL HER LIFE. NO MATter how often she had prayed, or how strongly she wanted to believe in a miracle, she couldn’t have imagined Holden standing in front of a packed gymnasium of his peers and singing “O Holy Night.” Not in a million years. And she wasn’t sure whether she was happier about that, or about the fact that Dan was here to see it happen.

  Her husband held her hand through the entire memorial service, while Tracy wrestled with her feelings. She ached for Michael’s mother, for the loss they would all take with them every day from here. But it was hard not to think mostly about her own family. How lonely she had been in the months and years without Dan. Yes, he’d made a decent living for them in the waters off Alaska. But she had been alone far too often.

  Having him here this morning only reminded her how hard it had been, how much she had needed him. This was how they were supposed to be—holding hands, side by side—whether Holden continued to come back to them or not.

  The feel of his hand in hers, his fingers intertwined with her own, felt as right as breathing. And she caught herself praying silently that Dan would stay. That he would stop blaming himself and running from the pain of losing Holden. That he would be part of their family and get a job here in Atlanta.

  Then, just before Ella took the stage, Tracy had the feeling someone was watching her. She looked over her right shoulder and what she saw made her heart slam into a crazy mixed-up rhythm. Suzanne Reynolds was sitting a few rows back. Their eyes met, and Suzanne offered the slightest smile, a smile
heavy with remorse and uncertainty.

  They both looked away, and the moment ended before it could become anything more. But Tracy sat there shaking, her knees and arms and shoulders trembling. Dan noticed, because he looked at her, curious. But she only shook her head. This wasn’t the time or place. She could tell him later. Besides, what could she say? She’d gone fourteen years without seeing Suzanne Reynolds. As if she needed one more reason to feel overwhelmed this morning.

  But all those thoughts ceased once Holden took the stage. From that point on, all Tracy could think about was the miracle playing out before her eyes. Dan was equally stunned, because in all the days since they’d lost Holden, he had always processed his pain quietly. No tears or shaking his fist at God. At first he did what he could to bring Holden back, but then their time together faded to a quiet desperation. And before too many years, Dan left for Alaska. In all the time since Holden’s diagnosis, Tracy had never seen her husband cry about their lot in life.

  Until today.

  As Holden sang “O Holy Night,” Tracy felt something wet hit the top of her hand. Dan had his fingers between hers, their hands resting on his leg. So when Tracy felt water hit her skin, she looked up and what she saw told her this was a special moment for all of them. A turning point they would never forget.

  Because Dan was crying.

  No question the journey ahead remained long, and normalcy was still an ideal that might never be reached. But then, Tracy could never have dreamed they’d share this moment. And in the applause that followed Holden’s song, she turned to Dan and the two of them clung to each other. “Please, Dan … don’t leave us again. You can work here.” There had been times over the years when she’d been mad at him for not being there, for choosing to run from Holden and the life he represented. But all that was behind them now. She pressed her cheek against his. “Please stay. We need you.”