Calling out in the silence

It may have been when I was in kindergarten.  It may have been that same week when my parents were in Florida.  Or not.  Anyhow, one Sunday I went downtown with Grannie to her church.  I was just a little girl in my Sunday best.  My white gloves were neatly folded together and tucked inside was my nickel for collection.  Grannie must have felt confident that I belonged enough to attend Sunday School.  In any case she sent me with the other kids out of the church and up a winding staircase.  On a table at the top was a wicker basket for collection.  But I'd left my gloves in the pew beside Grannie.

I ran back down to the church and rushed inside calling out for her.  Of course by then the hymn was over, the children were all gone and the minister was starting his sermon.  Silence.  I don't remember the reaction apart from knowing that I'd done a bad thing.  I do have the impression that Grannie shooed me away so that I went back up those stairs with my nickel.  I probably thought I was paying for my cookie.  But by this time the classes had started.  The hallway was empty.  I didn't know where to go.  I don't remember anything more.