I found them in the corner hidden in the darkness, covered by the uniforms that have defined my life over the past several years. I pulled them out and held them up to the light trying to remember their former glory. I inhale deeply, coughing as I choke on the dust. I blow swiftly across them - a tornado of powdered dirt swirls in the wake of my breath.
They were blush pink at one point, weren't they? The silky ribbon laces no longer hold the gleam they once did. The light now absorbed from neglect rather than reflected. Finding a rag, I pick it up and start rubbing vigorously - a desperation of sort has overtaken me! In my haste, dust fills the room, burns my eyes; I glance away. It's hard to breathe, and I am tempted to forget the whole thing.
As the dust settles, I catch a glimpse of the side I was cleaning . . . soft, pink, satin fabric is now evident. I turn it over in my hand noting the pointed shape, the hard toe, the leather soul. I continue about my work, more carefully this time out of consideration for both my own sanity as well as the fragility of the fabric I'm working with.
As I carefully wipe off each ribbon, I look inside and memories come back unbidden. The blisters, oh, the blisters! And how many times I had fallen. No, grace was not natural for me. My toes bled, my muscles ached, and I was insecure before others as I walked around on pointe'.
I'm half tempted to pretend I never even found them - to shove them back in their deep corner with the cob webs. But then a light in my mind started just a s a glimmer then grew akin to daylight - Amidst the pain, I was alive, alive and free! I was who I was created to be. I lifted my treasure up and held them to the light. Was I brave enough? Was it worth the risk? Would I tie on my ballet slippers once again?
