The Ballet Shoe

Laura tugged at her scarf, trying to cover her throat from the biting wind, all the while cursing herself for having forgotten her umbrella. She progressed in weird intervals, walking her usual slow shuffle when under building awnings, then breaking into a brisk trot when exposed to the hard January rain.

As she was passing by a shop window, lightning flashed. She saw herself vividly mirrored on the glass, a slim figure, shoulders hunched up. ‘It’s too cold, that’s why’, she mumbled, as if someone had accused her of poor posture. She turned her eyes to the ground, walking faster. She reached the corner, and had to stop; it was pouring.

She was reaching for her phone, when a movement caught her eye. She turned, and saw a pink ballet shoe on the curb, a single band floating on the rainwater rushing down the gutter. It was just like her own ballet shoes, the new pair she had bought for her first performance. She picked it up, and felt the insubstantial weight of it, running her finger on the soft, satin surface. She had never worn her ballet shoes.

An image of her mother’s face flashed in her mind, her harsh face twisted in anger, shaking one of Laura’s ballet shoes violently in her hands. Laura couldn’t understand how her mother had found out, she was extra careful not to let anyone know that she had never stopped the ballet lessons. Her mother had thrown the shoes away and had grounded her for a month. She never dared defy her again, until it was too late.

Laura stood frozen, unconsciously squeezing the shoe tightly in her hand. Suddenly, she heard the building door behind her open with a bang. A little girl was running towards her. ‘Hey, that’s my shoe!’, she said and Laura found herself once again giving up a ballet shoe. ‘I’ve got my first performance tomorrow, thanks for picking it up’ said the girl, flashed her a smile, and disappeared inside. “Break a leg!” Laura whispered, and closed her eyes for a second. She stepped into the pouring rain and kept walking.