retainers

I had my orthodontic braces removed the summer before my senior year in high school. The elation of the moment was dampened by stern instructions to make nice with my new friends - retainers - on a nightly basis. I wasn't altogether released; I was merely paroled.

I complied for a couple of years. Then my wisdom teeth started their migration and it became increasingly painful to use the top half of the retainers. So one day, I simply stopped trying to make it work.

Earlier this year, I stopped using the bottom half. My teeth of wisdom had been pulled, I wasn't traveling, the retainer had not been lost. I simply grew tired of the restraint and the daily discipline. And I knew that with each passing night, it would be increasingly difficult, and eventually impossible, to ever fit it on again. At some point, my teeth would move beyond restoration and become irreconcilable with the shape of the retainer.

About a month ago, the same thing happened in a friendship. Unspoken retainers stand guard in every relationship and in a moment of hubris or innocent lapse of judgment, we ventured beyond those boundaries. We saw the line as we crossed it. We expressed confidence that our friendship would hold up given its age, given our maturity.

We were wrong.

Pride goeth before the fall, then exacerbates the injury. It would cause some pain and discomfort to return to the old shape of things, but that's not yet impossible. And I know, with each passing day, as we cradle our egos and lick our wounds in our respective corners, waiting for the other to make the first move, the task grows bigger.

It seems a lose-lose situation. I'd feel like I'd lost if I make an effort now, and I know that I'd lose if I don't.