Concerning Fire, People and Beignets

  Kevin traded her a clove cigarette when she returned with a plate of pastries and coffee refill, and they sat a few moments sharing the serene silence of warm company. “You don’t look so well,” Ivy finally observed, tapping ash and pushing her glasses back up her nose.
  “Bad dream,” Kevin said, biting into a beignet gingerly. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”
  Ivy was aware of his attempts at coping, but while he never felt judged or condemned by her he was reluctant to allude to it. “Addiction” was another word they didn’t mention much. He wondered sometimes, feeling blasphemous just doing so, if maybe she just didn’t know what to say.
  “Like that’s new,” Ivy responded. Then she added, “Not that I’ve stones to throw. I spent all night dreaming I was reading a magazine. How stupid is that?”
  Kevin smiled. She could always make him smile effortlessly. “I just need to get out of here,” he brooded.
  “So I’ve heard.”
  “I mean it.”
  “You know I would do anything to help you.”
  “You can’t,” he answered, not unkindly. “I wish I had those kinds of problems.”
  “No one can do it on their own, Kevin. Even healthy people, and you know what I mean by that. It’s a structure built into our psychology.” She took a draught of coffee as though it were her wellspring of inspiration. “Look, perhaps you should view it as fire. For all its destructive genius it can be friendly, and that friendliness we depend on. Whether by carbon or electric, we need it to see, to be warm. Maybe we just stress over the definition too much. But that’s why we have people.”
  Kevin stubbed out his cigarette. “Tell that to God.”