Driftwood Love

2. Momo makes my life beautiful.

On my journey through the newly created Frankfurt Old Town, reconstructed between 2012 and 2018 with revived historic buildings and integrated modern interpretations, I strolled past the Schirn Kunsthalle. This stylish art venue in the heart of the city attracted art enthusiasts. Amidst this cultural splendor, Laurin, my ex, and his new love Marlene sought someone to grant them entry into this world.

Arriving at the Römer, Frankfurt's city hall, I maneuvered around cheerful tourist groups wandering the square, chatting and marveling. The Römerberg in Frankfurt, the city's heart, with its half-timbered houses and the town hall as a Gothic centerpiece, told stories in solemn tradition or with a playful wink.

Memories of Laurin's and my first shared strolls through the streets, once enamored and passionately kissing, echoed in my thoughts. I had once loved Frankfurt, a village with a big-city feel, but since my shabby breakup with Laurin, it felt different. The former routine as modern parents of Laszlo had given way to a sense of emptiness. Laurin often spent time with friends, while I, without the desire to join the party crowd, was left behind. The romantic vision of a shared family life crumbled, replaced by a constant struggle for free time. Being left alone triggered despair, and each envied the other's precious moments of freedom. The once-harmonious atmosphere gave way to a dark ambiance of misunderstanding and longing for lost moments of shared freedom.

Laurin and Marlene, the new power couple of the Frankfurt art scene. Marlene had already created a stir with numerous installations. Her specialty was seemingly mundane furniture to which she breathed "new life." One example was an office chair that looked like it was made of human leather, with pigment spots, hairs, and scars – all artistic illusion, no real leather. Somehow, I probably lacked an understanding of art; I found the chair ugly.

Perhaps she had also created works challenging the boundaries between reality and fiction, such as quirky collages of everyday objects or abstract installations prompting viewers to contemplate. Maybe she was just a bit eccentric; what did I know?

She could not only conjure art with furniture but also had a talent for singing. Laurin, with a penchant for singers, had actually met her while singing together. Her voice added an extra layer to the art history between them – melodies resonating between brushstrokes and pieces of furniture. The vibrant backdrop of Frankfurt only heightened my sense of never truly belonging.

Laurin, an advertising copywriter in an international agency, sang on weekends in a cover band and roamed the city.

We had met at a student house party. Someone was celebrating a birthday, and I was already so pre-glowed that I threw myself at the nearest person to sing a slurred birthday serenade. It was Laurin, and it wasn't his birthday. He found my countryside charm and off-key voice quite entertaining.

We danced, talked, and kissed the whole night and into the next morning. He was attractive, tall, a bit lanky but also slightly muscular, with caramel-brown eyes, long lashes, and a dark brown, tousled head of curls. And he just smelled incredibly good.

He passed on his curls to our son, Laszlo. The most incredible little boy on this planet. Laszlo was a whirlwind of adventures with a head full of curiosity. When he laughed and shook his wild, tousled head, his brown eyes sparkling with joy, my heart wanted to explode.

After the breakup, Laszlo stayed with me, and his father picked him up every two weeks, as agreed. But Laurin had a lot on his plate. He and Marlene tried to establish themselves as fixtures in the Frankfurt art scene and had several "projects" in the works. Laurin often had to cancel plans with me because they had a "vernissage" somewhere and needed to prepare. He always told me about it, annoyed, to deter any inquiries. When he heard my disappointment in my voice, he tried to make me feel guilty, as if I had canceled on him. Often, I was relieved because Marlene didn't get along well with Laszlo. She saw him not as the child he was but as competition she imagined.

Throughout the years with Laurin and me, his mom had always harbored hope that we would marry one day. However, the breakup manifested itself in the form of a graceful brunette. It was almost classic how betrayal stealthily entered.

On one of those days when I had a Saturday shift at the kiosk of Momo's parents at the Frankfurt Zoo, ending on Sunday mornings around 6 am, I made my tired way to the tram. The night shifts I took over for Momo's dad, recovering from hip surgery, brought me much joy, but the late schedule took its toll.

In front of the walls of the Frankfurt Zoo, I saw Laurin passionately kissing a young lady. When he noticed me, I walked on in shock, as if in a trance. He followed me, speaking imploringly, while his companion was busy adjusting her skirt.

"Whatever you want to tell me, let's talk tomorrow. I'm too tired for games," I said, holding my palm against his face.

The next afternoon, Laurin packed his things and moved in with his new flame, Marlene. Suddenly, I was a single parent. Everything happened quickly.

Through an acquaintance of my cousin, I secured an amazingly affordable shared room in Alt-Sachsenhausen. I now shared the three-room apartment with Florence, a fascinating woman of African descent. Florence was not only brilliant but also a beautiful, graceful, and delicate presence. Her impressive yet graceful stature drew all eyes, while her distinctive facial features exuded confidence. Dark curls framed her face, seemingly telling stories – sharp eyes piercing the world and a smile that kept secrets. Her entire appearance was a fascinating blend of grace, strength, and a mysterious aura. Her dry and sarcastic demeanor somehow grounded me.

Her professional activities remained a mystery to me, but she impressed with her intelligence, sharp sarcasm, and a heart in the right place. She mostly spent weekends either at home or at her father's car workshop, where she managed the office a bit. Florence was also very fond of Laszlo and loved spending time with him – a fact that immensely eased my life and couldn't be weighed with gold.

I passed by the Historical Museum Frankfurt, reached the Mainkai, and saw the Main and the Eiserner Steg. At the bottom of the stairs stood Momo, grinning cheekily at me. Dressed in blue jeans and a Breton shirt, the jeans emphasized his slim silhouette, while the striped shirt added a touch of maritime flair. White sneakers and a subtle watch completed his casual urban chic. His dark curls danced lightly in the summer breeze as he patiently waited for me, surrounded by the city's energy. A group of bachelorettes passed by him, captivated by his gaze, probably coaxing a euro from him. He took something from their makeshift store, and they ran past me, sighing after him. The woman with the "bride to be" sash theatrically fanned herself. Yes, Momo definitely had "that certain something." I cheekily grinned back at him.