A Mother, a Son, and the Rest of the Afternoon

I had a tour with a family from Frankfurt a mother and her son.

Their dynamic felt more like friends than mother and son. The day was oppressively hot, and when the son decided to retreat to the cool sanctuary of their hotel, it was just the mother and me left to wander the city. We talked about how she took a gap year at eighteen and ventured to France. She was the opposite of my own mother, who has always insisted I cling to my childlike wonder, still calling me "Bebe," as she has for as long as I can remember. But this woman was different, eagerly anticipating the day her son would leave home.

"Do you know any places where I can take my son shopping?" she asked, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "I want him to dress more maturely, more stylish. All his friends seem so much older, and yet his favorite pastime is still throwing stones into the river." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Aren't you afraid that one day he'll grow up and want to travel far away with his friends?" She paused, considering my words, then replied simply, "Maybe, but that's okay."

Our conversation meandered to literature. She confessed her love for English literature but admitted she could never quite fall in love with French literature. "I read The Stranger, and Albert Camus didn't impress me much," she said with a shrug. But Thomas Mann

—she was passionate about him. "If you love exploring the complexity of human nature, you'll adore his work. He had many lovers and grappled with intricate reflections on life, sometimes with men," she added with a knowing smile. He sounded a bit like Yukio Mishima, I thought. I shared my desire to write but noted how my writing is still deeply influenced by the books I read as a teenager One Hundred Years of Solitude, No One Writes to the Colonel, Dream of the Red Chamber , and some works of

Ryunosuke Akutagawa. "I'm fascinated by magical realism and the exploration of solitude," I admitted.

As our time together drew to a close, she said, "If you ever find yourself in Germany, please let me know. I'd love to be your guide this time. You should consider the program in Heidelberg; I think you might find Cologne even more charming than Berlin. And if you end up moving to Paris, also let me know it's only a four hour drive from where I live."

We parted ways, and I walked away feeling strangely rejuvenated, having forged a connection with a woman my mother's age—a connection I didn't know I needed but thoroughly enjoyed.