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Written by: “Irene Naridza”
IA PIC MADE BY HOTPOT: https://hotpot.ai/art-generator
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"Kayla, hurry up. We
need to start our lessons." Mom called from the hallway. "Come to my room. I have something for you."
she added with a hint of excitement.
I remember Mom making me do stretching
exercises ever since I can remember. I thought it was just gymnastics. It
wasn’t until I saw a video of one of Mom’s recitals that I realized she had
been making me practice ballet.
It was a bit embarrassing, but having Mom’s
attention and spending time together was nice. She even remodeled the room we
used as a storage space into our own little studio. Every Saturday, we
practiced together.
Mom has been passionate about ballet since
she was a teenager. She would always tell me bedtime stories about the times
she stood out in school recitals. The Livingroom is decorated with pictures of
her in ballet outfits from different talent contests.
But not everything was wonderful. She
confessed that, despite her efforts, she was never able to match the skills of
her classmates who were either naturally talented or had trained from a young
age. Sometimes, when she looks at her old pictures, she cries, regretting not
having trained harder or started earlier so she could have become a
professional ballerina.
Since there’s no place in the ballet industry
for girls with little talent, Mom had to settle for being an accountant to make
a living. Even after all these years, she doesn’t hide how much she hates that
profession.
One day before our usual session, everything
changed. She suggested I wear tights, slippers, and a pink leotard. Her old
outfit. I was embarrassed at first, but I eventually agreed since she insisted
it was the proper uniform.
The final touch was when she fixed my long
hair into a bun, saying it would be less of a nuisance compared to a ponytail. She
was right about everything. Even though the outfit was a bit big, the fabric
felt rough, and my hair felt strange and tight, the stretches and ballet steps
were easier to practice.
As I was heading back to my room to change
into my regular boy’s clothes, Dad saw me in the hallway. I froze, expecting
him to scold either me or Mom, but he just told me he was glad I was trying to
make her happy.
Mom gave him a big hug and a touching kiss
the day he brought me a brand-new ballet outfit that actually fit me. It was
still a girl’s outfit. It was more comfortable than the old one, and I have to
admit, I like wearing it, as long as only Mom and Dad are around.
It was still the same fun routine, just with
girls' clothes. Or at least, it was until Mom became stricter to the point that
ballet lost its charm. Now, it feels like an extension of school; strict
schedules, no talking, no distractions, and no skipping lessons to do something
else on a Saturday.
She also insists on calling me Kayla, which,
interestingly, was her stage name. Dad eventually stopped calling me Kai too.
He says you should always try to make the person you love the happiest, even if
it means changing certain things about yourself.
"Today, we're going to
practice something new." Mom
said as I entered the room. "I’m going to
teach you how to stand on your toes." She searched through a
box in her closet and pulled out something similar to ballet slippers. "These are pointe shoes. They're stiffer than
regular ballet slippers and have a flat tip. They will help you maintain your
balance." she explained.
She helped me put them on. Unlike the other
shoes that stay on with an elastic band, these have ribbons on the sides that
must be tied around the ankle. "You'll
learn to do it yourself in time." she said, pulling them tight
and securing them.
"In just three
lessons, you’ll be able to do this." Mom pushed herself up, suddenly looking
taller. It seemed like a magic trick until I saw her feet completely vertical.
I crouched down to get a closer look. It was like those jointless dolls where
you can’t tell where the foot ends and the leg begin. The tights only enhanced
that seamless look.
I tried to imitate her. Standing on my toes
was a little painful, but I could feel the tips settling against the floor,
almost like a support, only to fall flat on my face the next second.
THE END
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