Free Christmas Daisy by Christine Bush Page B

down her face, Daisy had wiped her eyes as subtly as she could, and had fled from the stage the split second she felt she could get away.  Her throat felt raw, and her hands were shaking.  Her emotions were rolling over her, creating havoc in every part of her. She was so tired of her errant feelings.
    Had it been noticeable?  Hard to believe, by how bad she felt, that the whole world hadn’t experienced her pain.  Little Hannah, next to her, had been clinging to her hand during her song.  The tremors she felt would have been noticeable, but the little girl had been steeped in her own feelings, most probably, and might not have picked up on Daisy’s overwrought reaction.  At least she hoped so.  Creating more upset or anxiety for a student was sure not on her intention list. And yet she probably had.
    When she reached her classroom, she felt no relief from her emotions.  Desperately, she grabbed her poncho from the back of her desk chair, flinging it around her shoulders.  She quickly and silently moved back down the steps to the front lobby,  her feet padding softly on the wooden steps.  She was aching for escape.  But where would she go?
    She got to the front door without seeing anyone at all, though she heard student’s voices echoing up the stairway from the cafeteria as they made their way to the door.  She slipped out into the darkness, feeling like an animal darting for its life on the African grasslands.  Her breath was coming in short bursts, her head was aching.  How had she gotten herself into this vulnerable position?  She knew better.  She had gotten by for years without making a fool of herself with her overwhelming emotions.  She had avoided Christmas and anything that was connected to it.  It had been safer, saner.
    But like a moth to a flame, she had fallen into this trap.  Helping with the costumes.  Hearing the constant Christmas music.  Seeing the joy of the students. Seeing, believing in Ben Wilson’s dream for New Horizons School. It had finally gotten to her.  Maybe it had been inevitable. 
    The night air hit her like a frigid wall the moment she stepped outside. It was cold.  A deep breath sucked in a lung full of cold air, shocking her system, and diverting her rapid thoughts.  She was instantly grateful for it.  Her instincts guided her to run away, to rush down the porch steps, and disappear into the night, leaving New Horizons behind.  And her students.  And  Ben.  The thought squeezed her heart. She thought  of his face as he stood directing their final song.  His pride.  His delight.  And he had been watching her, too. She had sensed it. She had seen it.  And when her emotions had rolled out of control, she had seen his reaction too.  Sadness.  She felt guilt just realizing it.  Her emotional trials had taken away his joy. 
    So she couldn’t just run away, no matter the urge.  She would have to get herself in control,  and dare to face him and talk it out.  No matter how disappointed he was. 
    The big front porch of the school was dark and empty.   She looked from left to right. On purpose, she neglected to turn on the giant brass porch light that sat beside the door.  There was enough light from the street lights to illuminate the steps and the sideway for safety.  The dark wouldn’t hurt anyone.  And it would sure give her a place to hide.  And think.  She moved to the far right side of the porch, back to a corner where the street lights had no effect.  It was dark.  She pulled one of the old wooden rockers with her, then tucked her feet under her as she curled up in it, wrapping her poncho tight around herself.  It was cold, to be sure.  But she’d bear it.  The cold was preferable to the wild feelings of grief and loss  coursing through her. She longed for the cold to numb her. She closed her eyes, and there in the silence and quiet of the front porch, unseen by anyone, she let the silent tears fall.
     
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    That’s where