Stretching is one of those paradoxical things that hurts but feels so good at the same time. "I'm not even that flexible." I think of some of the ballerinas I've known who were double-jointed everywhere.
"Compared to who? Mrs. Incredible? Good God, I feel my bones dislocating just watching you."
I pat the floor next to me. "Come on and sit. I'll teach you how to stretch."
Josh lowers himself to the floor, barely able to sit cross-legged. I've got my work cut out for me here. I show him a basic hurdler stretch for hamstrings.
There's a lot of grunting and groaning.
"You okay over there?" His face is getting a little red. "Make sure to breathe. Exhale on the hard part of the stretch."
I hear him blow out. "Is this supposed to hurt this much?" he pants, his voice raspy.
"You're going to strain your vocal cords talking like that," I say, taking a page from the voice lessons he gave me oh-so-many years ago.
He lets out a whoosh of air and rolls over to his side. "This is awful. Do you actually enjoy putting your body through this torture?"
I sit up, my back impeccably straight. "Believe it or not, it's worse if I don't stretch. Trust me. So, if stretching is what makes me able to dance, so be it. It feels less like torture when I put it in that context. Now back to it."
He complies, trying to do the butterfly stretch. I get up and kneel down behind him. Gently, I place my hands on his lower back, guiding his pelvis forward slightly to help with the stretch. My front is inches from his back. As he shifts forward, so do I.
"Do you miss ballet?"
I think for a moment. "I don't miss the environment, which can be toxic at times. But I miss some of the people. And I miss the dance. I'm excited to get into Kori's choreography for this. I'll be happy to lace up my pointe shoes again." Memories of my dance days come flooding back. All that practice. All that work. "Though I have not missed sewing my shoes. That's a huge pain."
"You have to sew your shoes?" Josh sits up a bit, looking over his shoulder at me. His face is only inches from mine.
I wish he would kiss me.
I wish I could kiss him.
I need space.
I sit back, scooting away as if the space will lessen the temptation. "Most people don't know this about pointe shoes. The elastics and ribbons don't come on them, so you have to sew them on every time. And depending on the shoes, there's a lot of customization that can be done too. It can take over an hour for each pair of shoes."
"How many pairs do you need? Like one or two a year?"
This makes me laugh. "Depends on the shoes. For the majority of shoes, they last through about a week of classes. Maybe two or three performances, depending on what you're doing. The principal dancers go through about four pairs a month."
Josh makes a face.
"Yep. The ones I wear last a little longer. I can usually make it about two weeks on one pair. It cuts my sewing in half. And I save more time now that they make them in my color." I pull my bronze Gaynor Mindens out of my bag. "I used to have to color the pink ones with makeup if I was going to be dancing bare-legged. But I've been able to get these since 2017, so it's been another bonus. I mean"—I caress the satin shoe—"there needs to be a bonus for wearing this brand."
"What do you mean?" Josh reaches out and touches my shoe. I hand it to him. He examines it, turning it over. I take the shoe in my hand and tap the floor with it. He follows suit.
"Traditional pointe shoes are made with paper and paste. These have a polycarbonate shank in the middle. Some people consider them 'cheater' shoes because they don't break down like other shoes do."
"Why is the fact that they're durable cheating?"
"Because as the shank breaks down, your foot has to work harder and you get stronger. With the Gaynors, there's the thought that you're not really working. But I like them because they fit my wide foot, and they match my skin. You don't have to break them in the same way. They're about as comfortable as you can get in these torture devices." And as much as I love these shoes, wearing them wasanotherway that I was different. Most of the FBBC wore Freeds. There were a few in Blochs. I was the only one with these shoes. No one cared that they were the best for me. They just cared that I was different.
Josh hands the shoe back to me. Pulling tape out of my bag, I wrap my big toes before putting the toe pads on. I slide my foot into my shoe, pointing as I lace the satin ribbons around my ankle. "You know, this is still the thing that makes me feel the best, you know? Like when I'm dancing, I'm finally beautiful."
"You're always beautiful."
My mouth opens slightly, and there's no air left in the room.
And that's okay. I want to exist in a Josh vacuum.
