Life's Regrets - Cover

Life's Regrets

Copyright© 2024 by Vash the Stampede

Chapter 24: New Paths and Old Wounds

Friday:

The early morning light streamed through the curtains in Josh’s room, its soft glow pulling him from sleep. He rolled onto his side, groaning slightly as the stiffness in his ribs reminded him of the beating he’d endured earlier in the week. It wasn’t as bad as the day before, but the soreness lingered like a dull ache, each movement serving as a subtle reminder.

Rubbing his eyes, Josh sat up and stretched, the popping of his joints oddly satisfying. His room was quiet, the usual morning sounds of his brothers rushing around and his mother chatting over breakfast noticeably absent. He realized it was Friday, and everyone else had already left for the day.

“Guess I’m flying solo this morning,” he muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

After pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, Josh made his way downstairs. The silence of the house greeted him, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards under his feet.

In the kitchen, Josh opened the fridge, scanning its contents. The shelves held the remnants of the week’s meals: a carton of milk, a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes, and a few odds and ends that didn’t look particularly appetizing. Deciding to keep it simple, he grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter and a small container of butter.

He set everything out on the counter, then pulled a shaker of cinnamon and sugar from the cabinet. It was a breakfast he hadn’t had in years—sweet, comforting, and nostalgic. As he buttered a few slices of bread, he thought back to the countless mornings in his first life when he’d made this exact meal.

The smell of cinnamon filled the kitchen as Josh slid the toast into the oven. He leaned against the counter, watching the bread brown through the glass. The simplicity of the moment was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the past week.

When the toast was ready, Josh pulled it out and carefully sprinkled the cinnamon sugar over the golden slices, watching the butter melt into the bread. He took his plate to the table, sat down, and took a bite. The sweetness hit his tongue, instantly bringing back memories of his childhood—a simpler time before life had become so complicated.

“Not bad,” he said to himself between bites, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

After finishing his breakfast, Josh rinsed his plate in the sink and left it to dry on the rack. He grabbed his backpack near the door and headed out into the crisp morning air. The walk to school was uneventful, the quiet neighborhood still waking up.


When Josh arrived at school, the usual sounds of children laughing and chatting filled the air. He made his way through the crowd, nodding at a few familiar faces but keeping mostly to himself. As he entered the classroom, a few of his classmates turned to look at him, their eyes immediately drawn to the dark bruise around his eye.

“Whoa, Josh!” one of the boys exclaimed, leaning over his desk. “What happened to your face?”

Josh shrugged nonchalantly, dropping his backpack onto his chair. “Just an accident. Nothing big.”

The boy’s eyes widened, clearly skeptical. “Looks like someone decked you pretty good.”

A few of the other kids nearby chimed in with similar comments, but Josh brushed them off, offering vague answers to their questions. He wasn’t in the mood to explain the truth, and thankfully, the curiosity faded as the bell rang.

Mrs. Thomson entered the room, her usual warm smile in place. Her eyes flicked briefly to Josh, her expression softening for a moment before she turned to address the class.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said brightly. “Let’s settle down and get started.”

Josh slipped into his seat, grateful for the distraction of the school day.

The morning passed without incident. Math problems, spelling quizzes, and a group activity on habitats kept the class busy. Josh found himself settling into the rhythm of the day, his mind momentarily free from the worries that had plagued him all week.

During lunch, a few kids at his table brought up his black eye again.

“Seriously, Josh,” one of the girls said, her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? That looks bad.”

Josh gave her a reassuring smile, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I’m fine. Just a little accident, that’s all.”

Satisfied with his answer, the conversation shifted to other topics—games, homework, and weekend plans. Josh chimed in occasionally, but mostly he listened, content to let the chatter wash over him.

Recess was similarly uneventful. Josh stayed on the sidelines, watching as some of the boys played tag while others kicked around a soccer ball. He felt a twinge of envy at their carefree energy but knew better than to join in while his body was still recovering.

Back in the classroom, the afternoon continued smoothly. Mrs. Thomson kept the class engaged with a science experiment involving baking soda and vinegar, the resulting fizz and foam eliciting delighted laughter from the students. Josh found himself smiling, too, the simple joy of the moment easing the tension in his shoulders.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Josh packed up his books and slung his backpack over one shoulder. As he walked out of the classroom, he felt the usual relief of a week drawing to a close, but his mind wasn’t on heading straight home. Instead, he thought back to his earlier conversation with Mr. Chang.

“He’s serious about teaching me self-defense,” Josh muttered to himself as he exited the schoolyard. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see what he has in mind.”

The late afternoon sun bathed the streets in a warm glow as Josh made his way toward the Mini Mart. The air was filled with the subtle hum of life in the neighborhood—cars passing by, the distant sound of kids playing, and the occasional bark of a dog.


The familiar bell above the Mini Mart’s door jingled as Josh pushed it open. The cool air inside was a welcome reprieve from the lingering heat outside. Behind the counter, Mrs. Chang was ringing up a customer’s items with her usual efficiency, her warm smile never faltering.

When she saw Josh, her expression brightened. “Josh! How are you doing today? Still sporting that black eye, I see.”

Josh touched his cheek self-consciously, the discoloration fading but still visible. “Yeah, it’s healing. Just thought I’d stop by and talk to Mr. Chang. He mentioned something about self-defense lessons.”

Mrs. Chang’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but her smile grew wider. “Ah, so he’s roping you into his dojo, is he? Good for you! He’s in the back checking in a shipment. Go on back, dear. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Chang,” Josh said, giving her a small wave as he made his way toward the stockroom.

The stockroom smelled faintly of cardboard and spices. Josh spotted Mr. Chang at a large metal table, methodically unpacking boxes and checking items off a clipboard.

“Hey, Mr. Chang,” Josh said as he approached.

Mr. Chang looked up from his work, his sharp eyes softening when he saw Josh. “Ah, Josh! Good timing. I was just thinking about you. Come on in.”

Josh stepped closer, noting the neat stacks of goods waiting to be shelved. “Mrs. Chang said I could find you back here. I wanted to ask about those self-defense lessons you mentioned.”

Mr. Chang set down his clipboard and leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “I thought you might. So, what made you decide to take me up on the offer?”

Josh hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess it just feels like a good idea. You know, to be prepared in case ... well, in case something ever happens again.”

Mr. Chang studied him for a moment, his gaze piercing but not unkind. “That’s a smart reason. Self-defense isn’t just about throwing punches, Josh. It’s about confidence, awareness, and understanding your limits.”

Josh nodded. “So, what do I need to do to join?”

Mr. Chang gestured for Josh to follow him, leading him to a small table with a set of neatly folded papers. “First things first: the lessons. I offer the first few for free. It gives you a chance to see if it’s a good fit for you, and it lets me see how serious you are.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “You’re just giving away free lessons?”

Mr. Chang chuckled. “Let’s just say I believe in giving back. I’ve seen too many people walk through my doors looking for quick fixes or thinking martial arts is just about fighting. This way, I weed out those who aren’t committed.”

Josh leaned against the table, his curiosity piqued. “So, what happens after the free lessons?”

“We’ll discuss costs then,” Mr. Chang said. “But don’t worry—I’m not here to break the bank. My main goal is to teach. If we come to an agreement, you’ll get a uniform, and we’ll start regular training sessions.”

Josh nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds fair.”

Mr. Chang picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to Josh. “This is a waiver and some basic information about the dojo. Take it home and read it over. If you’re ready to start, bring it back signed tomorrow. We’ll have your first session Saturday morning.”

Josh took the paper, scanning its contents briefly before tucking it into his backpack. “Thanks, Mr. Chang. I really appreciate this.”

Before Josh could turn to leave, Mr. Chang placed a hand on his shoulder. “One more thing,” he said, his tone more serious. “I don’t just teach anyone, Josh. I need to know that you’re ready to put in the work. Discipline is key, both in the dojo and outside of it. Can I count on you to take this seriously?”

Josh met his gaze, his expression resolute. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t serious.”

Mr. Chang studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Josh smiled and turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “Hey, Mr. Chang?”

“Yes?”

“How long have you been running the dojo?”

Mr. Chang smiled faintly, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. “Since before you were born, kid. I’ve trained hundreds of students over the years—some of them even went on to teach their own dojos.”

“Wow,” Josh said, genuinely impressed. “That’s ... a lot of experience.”

Mr. Chang chuckled. “It is. And if you stick with it, maybe one day you’ll be one of those students I’m proud to talk about.”

Josh nodded, his mind buzzing with anticipation. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Chang. Thanks again.”

As he walked back through the store, Mrs. Chang waved from the register. “Good luck, Josh!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Chang,” he replied with a grin, pushing open the door and stepping back into the warm afternoon sun.

As Josh made his way home, his thoughts were a whirlwind of excitement and determination. The idea of learning self-defense felt like a turning point—something he could control in a world that often felt unpredictable.

He clutched the paper in his backpack tightly, a small symbol of the steps he was taking to build a better future for himself and his family.


Josh walked home with a bounce in his step, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the quiet suburban streets. The conversation with Mr. Chang had left him feeling optimistic, and the paper tucked into his backpack represented a step toward something new—something that could make a real difference.

When he turned onto his street, the familiar sight of his house greeted him. The curtains in the front window were drawn back, and he could see his mother moving about inside. She was likely cleaning—Dorothy Harlow never seemed to stop, even when things were finally easing up.

Josh opened the front door and was met with the faint smell of lemon-scented cleaner. His mother was in the living room, a dust rag in one hand and a can of furniture polish in the other.

“Hey, Mom,” Josh greeted, slipping off his shoes by the door.

Dorothy turned, her face lighting up at the sight of her youngest son. “Hi, sweetheart. How was school?”

“Pretty good,” Josh said, walking over to her. “Hey, can we talk for a second? I’ve got something to show you.”

Dorothy gave him a curious look, setting down the polish and rag on the coffee table. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Josh reached into his backpack and pulled out the paper Mr. Chang had given him. He unfolded it carefully and held it out to her. “Mr. Chang at the Mini Mart? He runs a dojo, and he offered to teach me self-defense. This is the waiver and some info about the classes.”

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