My First Pointe Shoes
By Madeline M.
Since I was three years old I had enviously stared at the other dancers' shoes, watching them step onto the wooden box and float across the stage, envisioning fairies in the childish brain of mine. I could only cling to the words of my teachers, “you’re almost ready,” or, “just a few more months,” or “you can get your pair next week." So when the store’s bell chimed above me, I realized the day I had been longing for was finally here, and I couldn’t help but smile and nod and almost bounce off my toes when my mom asked me, “Are you ready for your first pair of pointe shoes?”
As we stepped into the store, a collection of various dance supplies surrounded us: leotards, tap shoes, ballet shoes, even a small supply of gear needed for ballroom dancing. Glancing at a ballet rack with pastel tutus for toddlers hanging on it, I thought back to my first dance performance at three years old.
It was a tiny recital, when the parents would visit the dance studio—now the recitals are held at high schools—and watch their child dance. Flopping my arms around, I only hoped I was completing the steps correctly, and constantly stared at the teacher who was demonstrating the movements. But even then I was just proud that I could perform for my family.
Stepping up to the register, I noticed my mom and I were the only customers—the only other person being an employee, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a black t-shirt with the store’s logo printed across it.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered, “I need a pair of pointe shoes.” The words sounded like they belonged to another and I had stolen them.
“Do you know your size?”
“No, this will be my first pair.”
“Oh.” A smile spread across her face, understanding showing in her eyes. “This is a big day then. I remember my first pointe shoes.”
Another dancer, I thought, hoping that her experience could help me select the best one.
As she instructed us to follow her, we weaved ourselves around the maze of racks with the different sizes of costumes hanging on the display. She directed me to a bench and then began to measure my feet, writing down the size on a notepad. “I’ll be right back,” she assured us as she walked into a back room.
When she appeared again, she held stacked boxes—at least five of them—each with a different brand’s name on the side. “Okay,” she started. “The first thing you need to do is decide on a pair of toe pads. They help you feel less pain when you stand on pointe.” She handed me two different types. One was a soft fabric and the other felt squishy and cold when I slid them on.
“I’ll go with these,” I said, pointing to the fabric kind.
“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, we can try the shoes on.”
Adrenaline crept up my spine, my heart quickening as I placed the toe pads on my feet and finally pointe shoes over the toe pads.