The Bloch Shoe

A short story about a girl and her dance shoes.Enjoy!

The Bloch Shoe 

“Spot! Spot! Spot!” The thundering voice of the small, female instructor echoed throughout the dance studio as she commanded her pupil to spot her triple pirouette. The girl’s eyes concentrated on the poster on the wall which demonstrated the ballet positions, her eyes finding the poster each time she spun around the room. The young girl fell out of her turn and tumbled to the floor, her ribs aching from exhaustion and dehydration. The room moved right before her eyes as she struggled to gather her senses, shutting her eyes and trying to focus only on the contemporary music flooding the room with the velvet voices of female artists singing tales of lost love and heartbreak. 

Defeated, the young girl slid her lyrical shoes off, massaging her feet, certain that she had broken a toe nail, one of the nails split in two. After she gulped down her water bottle, the girl slid her shoe back on, neglecting to point out her injuries as she got lost in the sounds of Melanie Martinez’s “Carousel,” allowing the melody to transport her to a faraway carnival, lost in the comfort of the strange and abnormal. Her eyes caught the murky brown ones reflected before her in the mirror, her body spinning round and round as she focused to execute each and every exact measurement and movement of her routine, her aching feet dancing away from her it seemed, as if they were carrying her away somewhere, anywhere. Concentrated on her reflection in the mirror, the girl’s eyes dropped to her feet as she relived the origin of the Bloch shoe.

***

She had just finished therapy, finally cleared  by her doctor and ready to attempt tackling the day to day struggles that had not let up since her meltdown. She still had to document all of her food she tried to eat and the calories she attempted to consume a day. She still had to leave the bathroom door open at all times. She still had to take her magical, prescribed pills, the kind that leave her numb and for a little while happy. Beside all that, she was “recovered,” as far as the doctor could see. Her doctor suggested she take up a creative activity, anything really that would keep her out of the bathroom and away form the blade. 

The moment she saw them on television, the girl knew instantly what she wanted to do. She marveled at the young girls on the TV, clad in shimmery costumes fabricated from sequins and lace, every single one of their movements executed with exact precision as they told their story through the art of dance. That was it, the girl knew she had to do that. 

Soon it was official, the girl had signed up for intermediate 3 lyrical dance class at 7:30. Her excitement was so palpable as the young girl sat at The Dancer, a store for all of a dancer’s needs. She was practically bouncing off her seat at the sight of all her new essentials, colorful and shimmery shorts, her new tights that had never been worn. The young clerk came from behind the door with a few boxes stuffed under her arms.

“Ok here you are. Now you know the trick right?” The young clerk smiled at the girl's bewildered expression. She took out the brand new shoes from the box, the girl's eyes lighting up at the beautifully crafted shoes. The clerk bent down and looked the girl in the eyes.

“Pick the shoes that are going to tell your story.” The girl watched as the clerk walked away wondering what she meant. Her mother huffed in annoyance at the girl's slow pace as she slid her dainty feet into the stiff Bloch shoes. The moment she pushed off from the seat she just knew. These were her shoes; they would be there for her. They fitted her small feet so perfectly, and the girl immediately wanted to dance across the room.  She pointed my toes and fell in love. 

***

“ And all of these scars will bleed, and both of our hearts believe. All of these stars will guide us home.” The poetic lyrics of Ed Sheeran enraptured the girl in absolute ecstasy. The room grew dark as she turned the lights off, shielding the room in total darkness. Inspired, the girl grabbed her phone, turned on its flashlight and laid it on the floor in the corner, cloaking the space in a delicate glow. 

Her eyelids fluttered closed as a new song flowed from her pink laptop and filled the studio room with beautiful words and poetry. “And you know I’ll find my corner and that tonight I’ll call ya after my blood is drowning in alcohol.” The bridge picked up, and the girl drifted away. The pain didn’t matter, her injuries, her aches. They were nothing, they were simply temporary to the gift of the Bloch shoes. She didn’t have to be perfect; she didn’t have to be skinny; she didn’t have to cut away her pain or swallow the pills that would knock her out for hours, leaving her in deep slumber in the bathtub.

The one light shining from her phone was her spotlight and with her eyes closed, the Bloch shoes led her every move. She was on stage, covered in a beautiful, elegant costume, one that complemented her curves and, for once, she felt beautiful. She felt pretty. The dancer shut her eyes so tight she was seeing stars, but she welcomed them. They were bright and beautiful and welcoming. 

With a sickening snap, her small toe nail broke as she slowly rose up on pointe, but to the girl, she was up in the clouds. She was safe. She was happy; she was free. The beautiful, friendly Bloch shoes supported her and pushed her all the way to heavens. The flashlight from her phone went out, leaving her alone the dark studio with the final words of her solo “Cause I’m only human.” 

Author's Note

- John 3: 16

Reviews

[Marie]

THis is good. I enjoyed reading about this girl, though I know little about ballet. I think you could do beter with the ending sentence, though.

I can't quite understand what "John3:16" hs to do with it.