Personal Narrative-Pointe Shoes

The unpleasant smell of sweat, blood, and old shoes fills my nose as I open my dance bag that is filled to the brim with various shoes, leotards, and other miscellaneous items. Tonight is the night. I sit down against the wall in the corner and pull out a brand new pair of pointe shoes. Almost ritually, I pull the thread through the needle and begin to sew the ribbons onto the edge of the shoe. “Twenty one years.” I think to myself. The thought that I have been dancing for twenty one years whipped through my head and caught me off guard. I snap my head up and look around me at the empty dance studio. An empty room with three barres and a mirror lining the four walls. It looks so empty, yet has always seemed so inviting to me. This space has been my escape and passion for twenty one years now. Suddenly, a sharp pain races through my thumb. I carelessly poked myself with the needle. Something I have not done since my first few pairs pointe shoes. Surprised, I quickly
I rush over to my bag, take out my iPod, and play the music that will be used in my performance tonight. The beats of the music flow through my veins and I again rise onto my toes. Flawlessly, I perform the the dance, completing moves that I never dreamed of doing when I was younger. The door opens and one of my instructors quietly walks into the room. Startled, I look over and stop dancing. “On in an hour. You need to pay more attention to the time.” She states. “Already?” I reply in disbelief, only to look at the time and realize that she is correct. “Yes. Your last performance of this dance will be tomorrow on October 27, 2025. Do not be late that day because we are doing extra rehearsals.”says my instructor. “I will not.” I reply. Rushing out the door as fast as I can, I am not able to help but look back into the room. I imagine the evolution of my dance career from age three to twenty five. I shut the door and never turned