Adult (noun) - A Mess of Sadness and Phobias
Surrounded by chrome and cold, I finally felt the atmosphere rush back. The gravity returned to normal, yet the weight of our conversation still felt too heavy to carry. When would I finally be able to put the baggage down? I had thought I was over Ben, but even after six months the shock and anger still hit me harder than I cared to admit.
Instead of dwelling on the conversation and on Ramos, I started my next report. A middle aged man had died on the table during surgery. My recorded voice would have to drown out the one in my head. I was neck deep in the man's body cavity when it struck me-the steady tapping of my shorthand notation stopped. There was still one option yet to be explored. I was giddy with anticipation for the end of the day.
As I sent off my final report, I noticed a hulking lab coat out of the corner of my eye. It demanded my attention, but I had better things to do.
"Dr. Wolfe," his emotionless voice, usually a calming presence in the morgue, irritated me.
"Dr. Copeland," I tried to sound just as cool, but the end result was bitchy. I powered off my desk computer and continued, "I'm just on my way out the door."
"Dr. Wolfe," he said again, his deep baritone voice only hinting at impatience. He would wait for me to look at him.
"Yes," I finally directed my attention at my boss. His face was impassive, his dark brown eyes almost black under the phosphorescent light. The white of his lab coat contrasted handsomely against his dark skin. He wasn't particularly good looking, but he had a way about him that made him attractive. The crags on his face providing conversation topics and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes suggesting an easy smile.
"You don't want to hear me tell you, again-"
"You're right, I don't," I interrupted.
"About my thoughts," he continued as if I never said anything, "on your obsessive attitude towards the children's deaths recently." He paused briefly, staring me down in challenge.
"It's just-"
"I think you're avoiding things," he might be the Chief Medical Examiner and a hard ass if he wanted to be (especially when new laboratory equipment was needed), but he could also be quite the Papa Bear, "and I...we all appreciated having you here part time, you're an amazing addition to our team. But when you're ready, I know that you'll make a great diagnostician. It's okay to feel comfortable here," he gestured to the morgue.
"I…" the truth was, I didn't know what to say. Dr. Copeland was right, in a way. I was avoiding things. I had an amazing job waiting for me across the country, my dream job. But the thought of leaving San Francisco was unbelievably scary. I had a good thing here working at the morgue part time while still on rotation. Most of my co-workers couldn't understand how I had enjoyed moonlighting in pathology, but I had and it had been an amazing learning experience. However, I had to believe that the scariness of moving was not why I kept putting off leaving.
"I know." I finished lamely.
"Just give me two weeks when you figure out when you're ready to go," he finished with a small, kind smile before he turned away. I watched him go.