Unlocked (30 page)

“Yes, Holden.” She nodded, her eyes watery. “That’s exactly right.”

When snack was over, they walked to the living room and Holden went to sit on the floor, the place where his mother said he always sat for the movie. But this time he stopped and instead took the place on the sofa beside Ella. He didn’t say anything, just focused intently on the blank screen and waited.

Ella used the remote and started the movie. She hadn’t asked Mrs. Harris what movie Holden liked to watch, but she assumed it was a cartoon or a Disney film. Something comforting to take
the edge off a long day at Fulton. But instead, the pictures that came to life on the TV were clips of home movies. Ella might not have known who the children in the film were, except that she’d found their old photo albums a few months ago.

A little boy and a little girl were running around, chasing each other, and it took only a minute for Ella to understand what she was seeing. The children were her and Holden. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. This was the movie Holden watched every day? Home movies of the two of them as children? Every day for the last ten years?

A rush of tears made her throat tight, and she blinked so she could see clearly. The images changed, and now she and Holden were holding hands and singing. They were singing “Jesus Loves Me.” Holden turned and looked at her. “Our favorite song.”

“Yes.” Tears ran onto her cheeks, but Ella barely noticed them. The film clips changed again and now she and Holden were on a sunny green hillside and they were laughing and singing and Holden stopped and took her hands and …

And they were dancing.

She and Holden with the sun shining on their faces and laughter and “Jesus Loves Me.” Just like Holden remembered. This was the friendship they had shared when they were children, the friendship Holden had replayed in his mind every day for ten years. The life he lived locked away deep inside him.

Again he turned to her. “That’s our dance when—” He stopped and searched her face.

She felt embarrassed, not wanting to disrupt his routine. He couldn’t possibly understand why she was crying, how she was processing all that this movie told her about the past and about the friendship they’d both lost. There was more to Holden than anyone knew, but the complexity of her broken heart was beyond him. She was sure of that.

But even as she was convincing herself, Holden reached out
and took hold of her hand. For a long time he looked at her, the way he had only just learned to do. Not at the Ella Reynolds she was today, but at the little girl who had lost her friend when she was three years old. He held her hand for the rest of the movie, and by the time the film came to an end, Ella knew she was wrong. Holden understood.

Maybe more than anyone else in her life, Holden understood.

N
OW THAT
H
OLDEN WAS WILLING TO SING
, E
LLA FIGURED OUT
quickly that his ability to perform knew no bounds, no limits. Music was in Holden, where it had always been. And now —in their quest for a miracle—they had found it in a song. For that reason, Ella and Holden worked with the school band Wednesday and Thursday after classes, and by the time Friday’s memorial service for Michael came around, she and Holden were ready to surprise the entire student body.

Ella arrived early and greeted Michael’s mother. The woman wore dark gray, not quite as dark as the circles under her eyes. She hugged Ella and thanked her for putting the memorial together. “It makes me happy… that someone cared.” She sniffed, her eyes red from what had probably been days of tears. “That Michael had at least one friend.”

“He had more than one.” Ella remembered LaShante—and her determination to hear Michael play the flute. “People cared about him. We just… we didn’t know how to show it.”

The woman nodded. “Anyway, thank you.” She took her seat in the front, a few feet from the podium. Ella sat three seats down, next to Holden and his parents. His father was still in town, a nice, quiet man who thanked Ella every time they were together. Holden still hadn’t talked to his father, but that would come. Ella believed completely. God was only getting started where Holden was concerned.

A few minutes later the classes began filing in. Ella sat back in her seat, watching, listening. Most of them were quietly uneasy,
entering the gym in a more somber fashion than usual. But some of the kids talked or texted or laughed with each other, shoving each other in the shoulder and snickering about one thing or another. As if this were any other assembly on any other day. A reason to get out of class, nothing more.

Her eyes fell on Jake and his buddies. They were whispering, laughing between themselves and pointing at a group of sophomore girls. Ella stifled her anger.
Please, God … change them today. Let them know what they lost with Michael … Please don’t let this be a waste of time.

Ms. Richards waited until the gym was full, until every bleacher was filled with nearly three thousand students. Then she stood and went to the podium. She thanked them for coming and explained that the next hour would be in memory of Michael Schwartz. Then she introduced the choir.

At about the same time, a man slipped into the front row and took the chair next to Michael’s mother. His father, Ella guessed.

A couple dozen kids filled the risers on the stage, and two large screens lowered on either side. This was a part of the service Michael’s mother had worked out with Ms. Richards. A slide show of Michael’s life. The choir sang a song by Rascal Flatts called “Why.” The song was about the suicide of a friend, and it asked, “Why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a song.”

The music played, and around the gym Ella watched kids lower their phones and their voices and pay attention. Not everyone, but more than before. The pictures showed a smiling baby Michael, and then Michael as a young boy on a Big Wheel and then in grade school holding a hand-painted drawing of a dinosaur. Michael in a middle school track uniform, and with his dad, fishing on some scenic lake. One photo after another told the story of a boy who had hopes and dreams, happy days and milestones like every other kid in the gym. The last photo was
probably taken by the band teacher. It was Michael playing his flute, standing in the front row with the other flute players.

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.