Driftwood Love

5. Breakfast with a forensic pathologist.

Half-asleep, I discovered Florence sitting cross-legged at my feet. Her curls were protected by a silk bonnet, worn overnight to ensure a bouncy hairstyle the next day. Clad in an orange teddy-fur hoodie and matching shorts – her sleep uniform – she held coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other.

I gathered my thoughts, slowly reaching for my phone to check the time. At that moment, I pondered the century we lived in and questioned my own identity.

She bit into the croissant, washing it down with coffee, then leaned over the coffee table, placing her items down and handing me a cup of steaming coffee and a plate with a croissant. I yawned loudly, accepting the cup.

"So, how was the date yesterday?" I asked, half-asleep. She shook her head. "I might need to find a different hobby; dating is synonymous with wasting time." She took a sip of coffee.

"The guy was impressive and smart at the beginning. Then the scenario changed, and suddenly he became like a self-appointed father figure, explaining the world to me. Then he wanted to explain politics, the politics that interested him, without me asking. And when he heard my age, he said I was already an old girl, and somehow that totally turned me off." As far as I knew, Florence was 31 years young. It was absurd what she had to endure.

"You won't believe it, but the one who claimed to be like a well-aged wine at 42, kept praising himself the whole time and talked about what he expected from a woman." She brushed off some crumbs from her top. "Probably forgot to mention that he tasted more like stale water, should anyone be foolish enough to try him." She raised an eyebrow before taking another sip of coffee.

A dark storm cloud brewed above my head as I thought about some past dates. "You nailed it. And then they tell you that women over 30 are no longer attractive, as if we have an expiration date." I sighed. Florence chuckled, "How charming. Maybe we should write a manual for these self-proclaimed wine connoisseurs: 'How to Treat Women Respectfully – Without Overloading the Ego.'"

I joined in the fantasy, "And maybe a chapter on how to behave when expecting more than just a pretty face." Florence nodded enthusiastically, "Absolutely. I can already imagine it: 'Drink coffee, don't just stare at the cleavage' or 'Standards and how to tone them down.'"

I was fully engaged, "And 'Rethink compliments before they're spoken.' But seriously, Florence, why are so many men so superficial?" Florence shrugged, "They've probably forgotten that their wine was once produced in a bad vintage. But as long as they believe they're THE gift to womankind, they'll never understand."

"Good thing I have you, Florence. Otherwise, I might start doubting my own expiration date." I raised my index finger and sipped my coffee. Florence handed me a croissant, "Forget it, Dina. Our couch is comfy, our croissants are delicious, and the right men know how to appreciate that."

We laughed, pondering what "the right man" really meant. "After 30, it's not that great, right? Men don't evolve and remain stuck in some old habits, usually the bad ones, because they're just the most comfortable. It soon stops being fun," I remarked while brushing some crumbs off my clothes.

She shook her head. "Well, I wasn't on that date for long yesterday, and then I was on my way home. On the way, I ran into your friend Momo, who had just come from his parents. We went for a drink together. He's actually a cool guy. But tell me, does he not like me? He always looks like he wants to escape when we talk." She pondered, "His gaze is always like he's about to crack a joke at my expense." She shook her head.

Laughing, I found it unusual for Momo, typically relaxed and confident. Was he perhaps jealous of Florence's friendship with me? Internally shaking my head, I didn't consider Momo that silly; after all, we were no longer in the fifth grade. Nevertheless, I resolved to get to the bottom of it.

After Florence finished her coffee, she lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling and sighing heavily. "Oh God, tomorrow is Monday again, and the whole hustle with work starts all over. Honestly, I have no desire for this week and would prefer to call in sick and go on a world tour."

I looked at her and dared to ask, "What do you actually do? I only know that you work at the University Hospital Frankfurt, but what exactly?" Florence turned onto her stomach, looked into my face, her head supported by her hands. "Well, how should I say it? It sounds more spectacular than it is. Does the term forensic pathologist mean anything to you?"

My eyes widened. "What, a forensic pathologist? That's crazy, a super exciting job. Here I am feeling silly with my..." Florence waved it off. "Stop with the silly phrase 'feeling silly.' It's just a job like any other. Only, I deal with more bodily fluids, more or less!" We laughed loudly and quite dirtily.

"One has to undergo a longer training, study medicine, blah blah blah. But in the end, you still have tasks to complete." I was amazed, and she just shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "How do you get into that?"

Florence laughed. "Yeah, I have no idea. Originally, I studied medicine, and then I found it more exciting and decided for it." She sighed,"My parents were proud when I expressed my desire to become a doctor, but when they learned I specialized in forensic medicine, disappointment and a hint of disgust reflected on their faces."

I nodded, intrigued. "Aha, I wouldn't have expected that. What exactly does a forensic pathologist do?" Florence sat up, her eyes sparkling. "Well, I deal with examining corpses to determine the cause of death. Autopsies and forensic examinations are part of it. Sometimes I have to testify in court to present my findings."

My head tilted slightly. "Wow, like in the movies. I didn't know that. What are your tasks in forensic examination?" Florence flopped back on the couch, a hint of seriousness in her eyes. "In forensic examination, I analyze traces and evidence to identify injuries or toxins. It's about shedding light on the darkness and solving possible crimes."

I nodded again, fascinated. "Wow, that's incredible. It's really not what you imagine a typical doctor's job to be." "Exactly," agreed Florence, "many only think of the typical hospital image when they hear 'doctors.' But there are so many specialized areas that often work in the shadows." I thought briefly and nodded again. "Your work is definitely unique and challenging."

Florence smiled. "Definitely. You really have to work with a broad spectrum of skills and knowledge." I looked at her almost enviously and said, "You know what, your job is awesome. An absolute dream job." She looked at me in surprise, eyebrows raised. "Really, like, exaggeratedly? Why?" And I said to her, "Because the people you work with, they don 't talk much." She laughed hard. "Yeah, you're right about that."

Florence sat up again and tugged at her bonnet. "Hey, if some guys are unlucky, they end up on my table!" We laughed. Florence laughed heartily and winked at me. "Well, Dina, maybe we should think about it. A new Frankfurt crime duo, keeping the city in suspense. After bad dates, we dispose of the guys. I'll handle the crime scene, and you provide the perfect alibi. Becoming invisible together – that could be our new calling." We both laughed at the absurd thought, imagining how we, as a quirky duo, could plunge the city into a mysterious adventure.

The doorbell rang; we both jumped up and ran to the hallway. Arriving at the intercom, I called in, "Who is it?" and I heard Lazlo's small, squeaky voice.

"Mama, Mama, it's Laszlo. Papa is busy, and I'm here early. Can we play with the train together? I'm so excited." Lazlo exclaimed.

A glance at the clock told me it was only half-past ten. "Well, the fine gentleman didn't last long with his son," I sighed to Florence, pressed the door opener, and prepared for a day with the Lego train. Somehow, I had already missed the little rascal.