See You in the Morning

7 // Impromptu

For as long as Darren Teale can remember, music has always been his first love.

He reminds himself of this truth as he perches wearily on the edge of his seat with his cello in Dr. Mikhail Antonov's modest office for what must be his seven hundredth lesson.

Though usually focused and motivated throughout his lesson, Darren is flagging today. He's been plagued by an unwelcome wave of nostalgia and guilt ever since he took Lyla out for ice cream the other week.

Ribbons of light stream from a window above, casting a pattern onto the floor. Darren blinks the dust from his eyes and fixes his gaze onto the sheet music in front of him. He tries to counter his distractedness by taking a deep breath through his nose.

His long fingers wrap deftly across the neck of the cello, arching into hand positions he's long committed to memory. He leans into the music, lungs contracting with each push and pull of his bow.

"Now, don't pull back here," Mikhail Antonov instructs. "The piano and violin parts will carry the music for your group. But here, you need to release!"

Darren's brow furrows as he attacks the musical passage. It's a part of the piece he's always struggled to play well, with its intricate phrasing and tricky shifts. He maneuvers his bow over the strings, feeling the vibrations of the instrument in his arms.

Mikhail clicks his tongue. "Stop, stop. Like this."

Darren watches as his professor plays the same passage with his eyes closed. A dark, resonant sound rips from Mikhail's cello and bounces around the office where he teaches. Mikhail opens his eyes with a small smile and nods.

"See? Let go. Release. Now, you try."

Nodding, Darren shifts to position and brings his bow arm forward for yet another attempt.

His love affair with music began after his parents took him to a Billy Joel concert in Madison Square Garden when he was four years old. A few days later, his mother Fernanda noticed that Darren could pluck out the entire melody to "We Didn't Start The Fire" on the piano without ever having touched the instrument before.

At first, she signed him up for piano lessons. Darren progressed quickly and his teacher praised his raw talent and capability to absorb music like a sponge. But everything changed when his uncle from Brazil introduced him to the cello when he was in second grade. Captivated by the gorgeous instrument and the unique sounds it could produce, Darren begged his mother for cello lessons.

Meeting Dr. Mikhail Antonov was a blessing. Darren's musicality shone with Dr. Antonov's brilliant and kind tutelage, and over the years the Antonovs came to love Darren like a surrogate son. It was this kinship, along with a generous scholarship, that softened the blow for Fernanda when Darren expressed his desire to transfer to USC.

For the most part, Darren has no regrets leaving Rutgers and following Dr. Antonov to southern California. The Thornton School of Music has an incredible reputation and Darren has really come to think of Los Angeles as his second home. But there are times he wonders whether it had been music that lured him to the West Coast or the prospect of being near a certain brown-eyed beauty he never quite forgot.

Darren's fingers slip and he accidentally plays a wrong note. His tone is rough and his bowing is sloppy, no doubt impacted by his scattered headspace. He releases his bow and glances tentatively at his professor, awaiting critique.

Mikhail's lips purse together as he peers at Darren over his wire-rimmed glasses. He breathes through large nostrils and addresses his pupil appraisingly.

"This is a Brahms piece," his teacher clucks, stroking his beard. "Not happy Haydn."

Groaning, Darren slumps in his chair. "I know."