I caress the smooth pink satin between my fingers. Worn with time, the toes have a grayish hue to them, where the material has been danced off. The ribbons are still just as beautiful, not frayed any more then they were at the beginning. I want to remember.

Gold letters on the inside of the soles proclaim, “Capezio.â€? I trace these letters, faded almost to the point where they cannot be seen any longer. But I know what they say. It was one of the first words I could ever read…

Gingerly, I slip them onto my feet, and memories wash through me. Memories of stage lights, of practice barres, of black leotards. Yes, I want to remember. But can I?

My fingertips brushing the wall for support, I rise up into a standing position, and then, with a relevé, I am up on pointe.

And suddenly, my body memory takes over. Yes. I remember.

The toes of the shoes support me, layers of wood and glue. I can be a different girl in these shoes. A girl with no limitations.

I remember. How could I have forgotten?