Upon returning home after such a first day of work as the one Carter experienced, a less-fit individual would most likely have collapsed in exhaustion onto the couch the moment he stepped into the house. Carter, to the contrary, bounded up the stairs on seemingly fresh legs. He stripped and jumped into the shower, the day’s exertions already a distant memory by the time he washed himself of the dirt and grime. His appointment with Professor Rosa was scheduled for six o’clock, and Carter already knew better than to dare arrive late. When he was finished showering, he threw open the curtain and grabbed a towel. Running it frantically across his head and body, he hurried into the bedroom to get dressed. Within a mere few minutes, he was bounding back down the stairs and out to the car.

Despite driving the whole way with the windows wide open, Carter’s hair was still damp and matted when he pulled up to the house at the address Professor Rosa had given him. It was, he saw, a small, unassuming home, simply landscaped with a brick walkway leading across a neatly trimmed lawn to the front doorstep, which was flanked by two well-pruned shrubs. As he made his way up the walkway, Carter heard the sound of a piano playing inside. Oddly repetitive, what he heard was not the melody of any particular song that he could recognize, but there was something hypnotic about it nonetheless. When he reached the front step, he paused, and listened to the intricate music. So precise and error-free was the playing that he could not be quite certain as to whether he was listening to a live performance or a recording. Whichever was the case, the music abruptly stopped the instant he pressed the button and the doorbell inside chimed. A few moments later, the front door swung open.

“Buona sera, Signor Carter,” the professor greeted him, gesturing for Carter to come inside.

Carter had been quite anxious about making good at this first lesson. Still, he could not suppress a smile as he came into the house. “It’s Quinn,” he reminded Rosa. “Carter Quinn.”

“Ah, scusami, Signor Quinn, Carter Quinn,” the professor replied, the slight gleam in his eye letting the younger man know he had said this in jest so as to break the ice a little. He nodded at Carter’s damp head. “Has it been raining?” he asked.

“Just got out of the shower,” Carter explained.

“Good,” said Rosa. “Hopefully that means that you come to me a tabula rasa.”

“I’m sorry?” said Carter.

“A clean slate,” Rosa explained. “That is always the best way to begin something new.” Then he gestured for Carter to follow and led him into the living room.