WHEN CHARLIE JOINED HER LIVE, she was sat in the frame at a piano. Eden had a smile to her glossed lips, a baggy jumper hanging off her shoulders.
"I am babysitter for the night, except I hate being babysitter so I left the door cracked open so I can hear my brother's. They're drinking. Anyway! Piano," she picked up her phone to show the camera before she propped it on a glass vase, "one of many lyric books," Eden added, waving it in view, "and hopefully, some kind of creative flow."
She flipped through a few pages, talking to nobody in particular, but also speaking to the thirty thousand people watching her live. Eden never really got over that, the amount of people that knew her name, it amazed her every time.
"I— um, don't have an order to this. So annoying. I just write what's in my head and tell myself I'll go back later. Spoiler alert! I do not go back later." Eden muttered, eyes scanning her book. "Rico usually helps me with this part... but he's— can you hear them?" She went silent.
In a distance you can hear a group of voices singing a song off-key, Eden hummed along, "that someday it would lead me back to you— they're singing Sunday Morning. I love that song." Her eyes flickered to the screen, "Hi, Charlie."
Then she continued with what she was doing, so nonchalantly too. Eden played a few chords, slowly, as if she was trying to figure out her pace, a tempo.
As she found her rhythm, Eden explained what inspired the lyrics she was trying to conform to the beat. "I wrote this for my ex-boyfriend, unfortunately, he's a piece of shit." The brunette said with a snarky smile, "fortunately, these lyrics were too good to not make a song." Her tone was so soft, soothing, you'd never get tired of hearing her. "However, I'll never write another love song again."
Eden cleared her throat, symbolically ridding herself of the nerves restricting her voice.
"Edennnnn!" Her brother's were loud, clamping up the stairs with misplaced footing that almost caused them to tumble.
There were drunken chuckles being thrown around as the studio door creaked open. "Singing?" Rico questioned.
"I'm live." Eden warned her brother's, staring between the group, "but, yes, singing, Rico."
They took their own seats as Eden resumed the beat she was playing before. "I don't know how to start it. It feels... underwhelming." The singer opinionated, looking to her eldest brother for advice.
Rico shook his head, placing his drink down on the drum set next to him. "Show me."
Her fingers slid across the piano, her eyes shut as she concentrated. For awhile there was a melody, a collection of keys pieced together.
