Small Comfort

Small Comfort

The young lady sitting across from me seemed reluctant to make eye contact, something I had often encountered with individuals from her background. I commented on the minor transgression, and she quickly corrected herself. That was promising, promptness and a willing mind is the most any mentor can ask. I did not wish to pity her, nor for anyone else to pity her; pity is the sign of unequal footing, and therefore can never be true respect. Such small transgressions are telltale signs of a degenerate background, and thus incite pity.
I tapped my cigar on the table between us, one of the many small comforts, (which some may call vices), I possess and she does not, a quality I must be forced to admire. The conversation then turned to my singular table, another of my small comforts. "Some people find it – distasteful – one could say," I conceded.  "It has always been a source of great comfort to me personally. I cannot imagine the room without it. At night sometimes when I can't sleep, and am pacing alone with my thoughts, I come to this room and gaze at this simple glass construct, and find that my troubled thoughts are always settled and sleep comes much easier," I admitted to the young lady.
"I would suggest such a piece for you, but I have a feeling you would only object to such an addition," I said. To my slight surprise she contradicted my prediction, "Oh no. I'm afraid you are quite mistaken. I certainly would not protest if a similar piece were to be added to my collection. However, I would not keep such a creation solely to myself, but place it on display for the masses."
I had to smile, for she had showed an even greater constitution of character than I had imagined, "I believe you would indeed at that, Ms. Thorne, I believe you would."