Page 21 of A Country Kind Of Love
“I practiced a lot. I learnt to play the piano almost perfectly, so when it came to writing songs, I could focus on the melody of the song.”
When her mom died, the piano was her saving grace. She didn’t want an accompanist. That space was reserved for her mom only. She learnt to create the music all on her own. She had a voice for the melody and the piano forthe harmony.
“I think the guitar will always be my first love.” Cleo points towards a guitar in the corner of Peyton’s room. It’s more for decorative purposes these days; she picks it up occasionally, but the piano will always be her instrument of choice.
“You give off more of a rockstar vibe than a softpiano vibe.”
Cleo’s mouth curls into a smile.“Rockstar?”
“Just an observation,”Peyton says.
“I think you’d be surprised. Maybe I can play you a song tomorrow.”
“I’dlike that.”
Her friend Elijah calls from the living room; they’re leaving.
“I better go.” She half turns to leave but hesitates. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Shall we meet there? Say, around noon?”
“You bet,” Peyton replies.
She turns back towards the piano before Cleo sees her blush. She runs her hands along the keys looking at each one individually for inspiration. The music notes were hard to learn, but so was the alphabet. Her mother told her that nobody is born with the ability to read and write. You don’t walk into a classroom at the age of four and recite the alphabet to your teacher, but with practice you learn. It’s the same for music notes. After years of practice Peyton learnt to read them like she reads a book.
?
Mmm... bacon.
The sensory overload wakes Peyton from her sleep. The smell makes her drool. Jesse must be cooking breakfast. She wakes up and casually hums the same melody from the night before. Peyton’s mom used to say, “that’s how you know it’s a hit”. Her mom believed you can predict what songs will get stuck in people’s heads based on their melodic content.
She scurries across the room to the piano and grabs her notebook from the coffee table. She needs something to make the sound. She plays around with the keys; it doesn’t take her long to transfer the repetitive humming in her head into something physical.
Weirdly, the bridge comes to her first.
It rarely works that way.
“They say it’s hard... to let go...”She sticks to the same lower key, staying in her chest voice.“When you see a memory in every single note.”Peyton scribbles down the words and plays them over again until the arrangement feelscomfortable.
She looks around the room; the small silver trophy displayed on the shelf sparks her first line in the chorus. She shifts from her chestto her head.
“The trophy on the wall serves as a reminder... of who I used to be; when dreams were made foryou and me.”
Her mom is still her source of inspiration, even eight years after her passing. The songs Peyton writes about her aren’t commercial, they’re personal, and emotional. The songs might be some of her best work, but a song about a parent who’s passed? It doesn’t fit the bill, not in today’s world of modern country music. It isn’t about to storm to the top of the charts with the pop music of today, unless she makes a name for herself; that’s different. At this stage in Taylor Swift’s career, she could sing a song about a grain of sand, and it would chart atnumber one.
If she wants to pitch her songs to a famous artist, first she has to find the courage, but their experiences need to be similar, and that narrows her options. Regardless, Peyton copes by writing songs about her mom. It serves a purpose in her life, whether it helps move her career forwards or not.
There are three things that cause Peyton severe anxiety. First, the thought of failure, moving back to California with her tail between her legs and a book full of songs that gather dust for eternity. Second, the panic that comes with playing in front of others; she knows the day will come, and the thought makes her want to vomit.
The last thing is a recent addition,Cleo.
Who is this girl?
What’s her story?
Aside from her precarious good looks and her glowing bouncy head of hair, Peyton knows nothing about her.
“Peyton...” Jesse calls. “Do youwant bacon?”
His bellowing of her name across the apartment brings a sense of home. She misses her brothers.
