Chapter 3: Another 5
August 4, 2010
Another five years passed.
Josiah Valentine was ten now.
He sat in the living room with his guitar resting awkwardly against his leg, fingers pressing down on the strings with focused care. The instrument was a little scuffed—used, not new—but it was his. His mom had bought it for him a year ago after he wouldn't stop humming melodies around the house, and after a long conversation with the school's music teacher, Alyssa. Officially, Alyssa was her coworker. Unofficially, she was a friend who agreed to give Josiah lessons on the side.
Paid lessons.
Extra practice.
Encouragement without pressure.
Josiah had taken to it faster than anyone expected.
He wasn't amazing—not yet—but he could play a few full songs now. His fingers still stumbled sometimes, especially when he got excited, but he was steadily improving. He practiced almost every day, sitting in the same spot on the couch, guitar balanced carefully, brow furrowed in concentration.
His mom was in her office down the hall, grading papers and answering emails. The door was open, and from her desk she could see straight into the living room. She liked it that way. Not because she didn't trust him—just because she enjoyed seeing him there, alive in the space, filling the house with sound.
A knock came at the front door.
Josiah glanced up.
Before he could stand, the door opened, and Amaya leaned in, already halfway inside like she belonged there.
"Hey, Josiah," she said, grinning.
Amaya was his neighbor and his friend—same age, same street, same school. She had curly, dark hair, never tied back correctly, and a habit of speaking as if she were always slightly amused by everything.
"Sup, Amaya," Josiah replied casually.
Her eyes dropped immediately to the guitar. "Ohhh. You gonna play me a song?"
From the office, his mom glanced up, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
Josiah hesitated for half a second. Not nervous—just thinking. Then he nodded.
"Sure."
He adjusted the guitar on his lap, fingers finding their places almost automatically. He didn't overthink it. He never did when it came to music.
He started playing.
The opening riff of Seven Nation Army came out strong, a little rough around the edges but unmistakable. Amaya's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh, I know this one."
Josiah sang along as he played, his voice lower than it used to be, not quite settled yet but clear. He didn't sing every word perfectly. Sometimes he leaned more into the rhythm than the lyrics, humming where his memory slipped, letting the guitar carry him forward.
The sound filled the living room.
From her office, his mom slowly set her pen down.
She watched him closely now.
He wasn't just playing notes. His shoulders relaxed as the song went on, as something inside him clicked into place. His foot tapped against the carpet in time. His voice didn't waver, even when his fingers briefly did.
Amaya sat on the arm of the couch, listening quietly for once. She didn't interrupt. Didn't joke. She just watched him, as if she were seeing him differently.
When he finished, the last note lingered in the air.
"…Dang," Amaya said. "You're actually really good."
Josiah shrugged, trying to play it off. "It's just practice."
"That's not just practice," she said. "You sound like you mean it."
From the hallway, his mom smiled to herself.
"Play another one," Amaya added quickly. "Please."
He did.
Not the same song—something simpler this time. Slower. Something Alyssa had taught him to help with finger control. He didn't sing this one, just played, eyes focused, completely absorbed.
When he finished, Amaya clapped. Loudly. Dramatically.
"Okay," she said. "When you're famous, I'm telling everyone I knew you first."
He laughed. "I'm not gonna be famous."
"You say that now."
His mom finally stepped out of the office. "Amaya, do your parents know you're here?"
Amaya jumped slightly. "Uh—yeah! I mean—probably."
His mom raised an eyebrow, amused. "You can stay a bit. Dinner's in an hour."
"Yes!" Amaya said, already flopping backward onto the couch.
Josiah picked up his guitar again without being asked, idly strumming as they talked about school, teachers they didn't like, and which cartoons were still acceptable at ten years old.
As he played absentmindedly, the strings vibrated softly.
Everything felt right. He didn't feel nervous. He wasn't overconfident. Any nervousness he might have felt was replaced by pure joy.
"Amaya," he said suddenly, fingers still moving. "What do you like to do?"
She tilted her head, thinking. "Hmm. I like dressing up and playing pretend," she answered genuinely.
"You should be an actress then," he said without hesitation. "Then you could be famous too."
"Really? Me?" she asked, surprised. "You think I could?"
"I think you could do anything you want," he said simply.
She smiled, wide and real. "Thanks."
"No problem."
"Okay, you two," his mom called from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready."
They ate together, watched cartoons afterward, and when the sky outside started to darken, Amaya finally went home.
Josiah fell asleep that night with his guitar leaning against his bed.
A year later
June 3rd, 2011
His mom sat him down at the kitchen table, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Josiah," she said gently, "I want to tell you something."
He looked up from his cereal. "Am I in trouble?"
She smiled. "No, baby."
She took a breath. "I've been dating someone."
"Oh." He blinked. "Who?"
"Alyssa."
He frowned, confused. "But… she's a girl."
She chuckled softly. "I know. Mommy likes boys and girls. And I like Alyssa."
He thought about that for a moment, serious in the way only kids can be.
"So," he said slowly, "will she be my mommy too?"
Her expression softened. "No. You only have one mom. Maybe a stepmom one day," she added with a small smile, "but it's too early for that."
"Oh. Okay."
He nodded, accepting it easily.
Then his eyes lit up. "I can't wait to get a girlfriend."
She laughed, surprised and amused. "Me too, baby."