From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: THE MISS DAISY CHRONICLES 4 of 5 MAKING MISS DAISY CHAPTER FOUR:   
   DEFINING   
   MOMENT   
      
   by bobandcarole   
      
       Her chest tight and stomach roiling with anxiety, Tansy knocked softly   
   on the cloudy white glass panel above Mrs.  Patel's nameplate.  She didn't   
   know the school's career counsellor very well, having never spoken directly   
   with her although she did hear her speak at the beginning of the school   
   year about how her door was always open for students with questions or   
   concerns.  She guessed she'd find out if that was so now.   
      
       Among her classmates, the view was that Mrs.  Patel was "different" then   
   the rest of the teachers.  Not a weird and creepy different like Mr.   
   Brumbaugh the science teacher who everyone knew lived in a house full of   
   caged spiders which was why he was always out in the fields behind the   
   school humming to himself while he chased crickets and grasshoppers with a   
   little mesh net; not a humorous different like Mrs.  Positano the English   
   teacher whose round, plumb face was always split by a wide smile as she   
   started that day's class off with a corny joke and who would always add a   
   point or to the score of a student who made the day's most outrageous pun;   
   more of a "not from around here" different.   
      
       For one thing there was the way she dressed.  No one else Tansy knew   
   wore clothes like Mrs.  Patel's, so long and flowing, silky and colourful   
   with all the embroidery and patchwork.  And then there was that red dot in   
   the centre of her forehead.  What was that all about anyhow?   
      
       She always had a sweet, smoky scent about her yet she told Jamie Roeser   
   she didn't wear any perfume.  Where did the smell come from?  Then there   
   was the food she ate.  Always vegetables, fruits and grains, usually with   
   some spicy sauce and never, ever any meat.  How could someone go even a day   
   without eating any meat, let alone a whole lifetime?  Would someone who   
   didn't eat meat approve of her being a cow?   
      
       While Tansy pondered her questions, her knock was answered by the door   
   swinging inward, a pleasant soothing voice inviting her to please come in.   
   Stepping through the door, she discovered another difference about Mrs.   
   Patel; her office was unlike any other in the school, more like a family   
   room than anything else.   
      
       In place of the usual stark black and chrome metal desks and chairs,   
   there were soft over-stuffed chairs and a small love seat all surrounding a   
   polished cherry coffee table whose surface was covered with various   
   pamphlets.  Real paintings of flowers and landscapes, not posters with   
   trite sayings, adorned the walls.  There was a small refrigerator, and a   
   stereo system along with a combination TV/DVD player on top of a chest of   
   drawers on one side of the room.  The only really unusual thing about the   
   room, aside from the fact it smelled like Mrs.  Patel always did, was a   
   triangular stand tucked unobtrusively away in a far corner.   
      
       Accepting the counsellor's offer of a soda, and her suggestion she sit   
   in the "big blue chair," Tansy turned an attentive eye on the counsellor,   
   hoping to read something in her body language that would give her a clue of   
   how to begin.   
      
       What she saw was a relaxed woman in her mid-twenties dressed in a snug   
   sleeveless top of shimmering shades of blues, golds and greens that hugged   
   the contours of her modest bosom.  The top ended just underneath her naval,   
   leaving a small gap between it and the blue jean pants, below it that   
   revealed a flat, athletic abdomen of skin the shade of burnished chestnut.   
   The pants were canted off to one side and held up by a longer than   
   necessary khaki belt, which itself loosely extended a good six inches past   
   the buckle.   
      
       The face above the top was inviting and friendly with a smile as warm as   
   the summer sun.  Two black eyebrows arched over deep velvet caramel eyes   
   themselves set on either side of a pert upturned nose.  A forest of thick   
   shiny ebony hair brushed straight back from the crimson-dotted forehead and   
   tied into a stubby ponytail completed the ensemble.   
      
       Aware of the ongoing inspection, Mrs.  Patel lowered herself with an   
   easy fluid grace into the chair opposite Tansy, waiting a few moments more   
   before breaking the ice.  She knew she had a reputation of being somewhat   
   odd among the school's students; what kind of counsellor would she be if   
   she weren't aware of the undercurrents?  It was best to give first-timers a   
   few minutes to adjust and get comfortable before beginning a session; a   
   little social chitchat was never amiss.   
      
       "Good morning Tansy.  I know we're here to talk about you today but I   
   thought it'd be nice if I started out by telling you something about   
   myself. Now I know the name on the door is Mrs.  Patel and that's probably   
   what you should call me when you see me anywhere else than this room.  But   
   in here I want you to call me 'Jay." That's short for my full name Jyeshtha   
   which means 'eldest daughter.' I have three sisters, all of them younger   
   than me so that's part of where my name comes from.   
      
       "I was born in this country but my grandparents originally came from   
   India.  Heritage, culture and tradition are very important in my family,   
   which is why my first name is so unusual.  It's also a real tongue twister,   
   so that's why my nickname is Jay.  The only time I get called Jyeshtha is   
   when my mother's really mad at me.   
      
       "I'm married, which is a good thing 'cause otherwise the Mrs.  would be   
   pretty silly.  My husband's family is also from India and his name is   
   Chiranjeev, which means 'long-lived.' Everyone calls him Charlie, though.   
   The only time he gets called Chiranjeev is when I'm mad at him.  Charlie's   
   an engineer down at the electrical plant.  We don't have any kids yet but   
   we do have a dog, a mutt with the normal name, at least for a dog, of   
   Scoundrel.   
      
       "The big red blotch in the centre of my forehead isn't a pimple or a   
   scar.  It's called a Tilak and it's a sacred sign in my religion, one that   
   is intended to help awaken the wearer's spirituality.  It's not red paint   
   either; it's a spice, red turmeric, that we call 'kumkum'."   
      
       A quick smile crinkled Tansy's mouth as she heard the other name for the   
   spice.  She knew about having cum on her face; her cousin Swen had taught   
   her all about that, although his was a pearly white, not red.   
      
       Taking the student's grin as an indication she was comfortable, the   
   counsellor moved on to business.   
      
       "Tansy,' Jay said leaning forward and looking earnestly into the young   
   girl's eyes, "I want you to know that this is a safe room.  You can tell me   
   anything you want in this room, ask any questions you have in this room;   
   laugh, cry or swear in this room and it's OK.  Nobody makes any ethical   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)