Chapter 1: The Impact of First Encounters

Two weeks ago, I savored poutine for the first time while visiting Quebec. Before I dive in, I should mention that my French skills are non-existent. It's as if my tongue can't quite manage the intricate sounds necessary to give those charming phrases their due. Why express, "L'amour ne voit pas avec les yeux, mais avec l'âme," when a simple, "Stay a little longer," suffices? The outcome is the same—intimate moments shared—without the potential for a linguistic mishap that could be disastrous for a radio host like myself.

Poutine led me to reminisce about my own first experiences—the initial ride on a bicycle, the first haircut, that unforgettable first kiss, and the first flutter of love. We tend to romanticize these moments, perceiving them as pivotal events that shape our identities, even when many of them are merely blunders.

My inaugural bike ride was a disaster; I ended up with a bandage on my left knee for a week. The first haircut was no better. I requested just a slight trim but left the salon looking as though I had stepped out of a tragic play.

And the first kiss? A mishap in itself. I had my sights set on his friend, but he was too distracted to notice my longing. This individual, whom I’ve whimsically dubbed Miss Charlotte Webb, possessed an extraordinary charm, even in the eighth grade, that seemed to draw everyone’s attention.

All these contradictions made it incredibly challenging for me to discuss first experiences in a positive light. However, I thought I had a winning story when it came to describing my first love.

He had been my neighbor, living in a grand two-story Victorian with a tower—uniquely the only one of its kind in our neighborhood. The locals referred to it as "the castle."

Tall and athletic, he was a basketball player at our school. For reasons I now find dubious, I considered him handsome. We shared the bus to school nearly every day for twelve years, from first grade until he left for university. Yet, I never summoned the courage to confess my feelings during those years. The best I could manage was to climb the walnut tree my grandfather planted in our garden and peek over the fence to catch a glimpse of him.

Though we never shared a kiss or held hands, he knew my innermost secrets. In hindsight, that might have been my downfall. Men often fall for the idea of a woman, drawn to the mystery and stories yet to be uncovered, not someone they see as an open book with all her flaws on display. Thus, he slipped away from me until two months ago, when I unexpectedly heard his voice during my show in Quebec.

He called in to respond to a question, but it took me a moment to recognize him. I asked, "What was the most daring thing you did as a child? Something that, as an adult, makes you think, 'How did I muster the courage for that?'"

His answer took me by surprise.

"I had this childhood friend," he began. "I knew her all my life."

"What was her name?" I probed, still trying to grasp who I was speaking with.

"Valeria," he replied.

At first, I thought it was just a common name, given Quebec’s rich Latin influences. Surely, there must be other Valerias around.

When I asked for his name, he casually said, "My name is Stefan."

For a fleeting second, I thought perhaps he meant "Steven," which would have seemed more likely. "Stefan" struck me as an unusual name, resonating with a Polish heritage I oddly shared in my youth.

My grandmother once told me, "One coincidence is merely that; two are a clue; three are proof."

So, with my heart racing, I awaited the third revelation.

"I lived with my parents in a little town in Southern Ontario for the first seventeen years of my life," he continued. "In a house with a tower."

"A tower?" I could hardly believe my ears.

"Valeria lived across the street," he added, as if I hadn’t spoken.

In the radio booth, there are moments when the silence feels all-consuming, as if I’m the only person alive. This was not one of those moments; my mind felt like a cacophony of chaos.

"For years I had a crush on her, but never found the courage to confess. Then, one day, quite unexpectedly, we kissed."

I was stunned. I could foresee what he would say next.

"We kissed in the tower of my parents' house one weekend when we were alone."

I was left speechless, my expression likely shifting through a spectrum of emotions. My producer, Mark, was knocking on the glass, checking if I was alright.

I don’t remember responding to him, but I did speak into the microphone, "And then what happened?"

A thick silence hung in the air. I remembered those times when I prayed for a change but felt ignored. I thought of that awkward fourteen-year-old girl in glasses, infatuated with her teacher, believing that my troubles mattered little to a higher power.

"We broke up. I went to university and never saw her again," he said at last.

"But why?" I nearly shouted into the microphone. "What did she do?"

Another pause ensued, as if he hesitated to share.

"She wasn’t innocent anymore," he finally whispered.

I was bewildered.

"You mean she lost her virginity?" I asked.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"And that was a bad thing because…?" I felt as though I was interrogating someone reluctant to share a secret.

"Because then I knew the rumors were true," he sighed.

"What rumors?" I pressed.

"About her and that professor," he let slip.

I should have stopped there, but with ten minutes left in the show, the radio host instinctively becomes an investigative reporter. So, in a burst of spontaneity, I prompted, "...and?"

"I confronted the professor," he explained. "I hoped he would deny it, but he didn't. He even showed me photographs and said she was the love of his life."

In that moment, something extraordinary happened that rekindled my belief in fate—the power in the building went out. By the time it returned, we were off-air, and Stefan was gone.

Later, in the cafeteria, Lucien, the Program Director, told me, "I enjoyed your show today. It was quite entertaining. I'm considering offering you a full-time position. What do you think?"

Seeing my hesitation, he added, "Do you know why I appreciate you, Valeria? You’re not like other women," he said with a smirk.

"You're right, Mr. Blanchard," I replied. "Not yet."

With that, I grabbed my coffee, turned on my heel, and left the station.

More stories about Valeria, from the same author:

Incomplete

Everything You Never Told Me

Chapter 2: The Power of Reflection

Ed Sheeran explores the theme of first experiences in his lyric video "First Times."

Ed Sheeran shares his insights on love and relationships in his song "First Times."