“Well—things like—mysterious things. You know. Things we an’t answer on our own.” She stuffed the Kleenex back in her bag nd snapped it shut. The snapping seemed to close the issue and he went back into her silent stare out the front window. The choir gown was stifling and I started pulling it off, over my head, but it got stuck around my neck. A quick panic flashed through me like I’d suddenly fallen into a pit. It was pitch black inside and smelled like starch. A yelp came out of me like I’d heard dogs make when you surprise them in their sleep. “You have to unsnap the back of the collar first, sweetheart. You can’t just yank it off. Here, let me help you with it.” I felt my mother’s thin fingers fishing for the metal hooks that fastened the starched white collar to the heavy black cloth at the back of my neck. Her fingers felt far away. The panic grew and seemed to swarm toward my eyes. I saw the red ruffled skirt go flying past me in the darkness. Its rustle blew right across my head like the wind outside. I couldn’t tell which was which. “Now don’t twitch around,” my mother said. “I’m trying to find these darn hooks. Just sit still!” But I couldn’t. The fear became like a trapped miner’s when the shaft collapses. There was no light at all. A white dog with red eyes appeared, running straight at me. I jerked up hard on the thick black fabric and heard all the stitching pop out. My head came free. “Now you’ve gone and torn it! Look at that! You’ve ripped the collar right out. Oh brother. What’re we going to do?” My mother gathered up the ripped gown and turned back around in her seat with it, examining the collar.

“Sorry,” I said, lamely. I was so glad to be breathing sweet air again.

“You can’t just rip these things off like a T-shirt or something, honey. These are specially made. They have professional seamstresses do this work.”

“Sorry,” I said again.

“This doesn’t belong to us, you know. It’s church property. Now I’m going to have to see if I can restitch the whole thing.”