Walking into the bathroom this morning, I noticed the new toothbrush holder that David bought for us, because I broke the last one. Actually, broke is such a tame word for what happened. It shattered. Completely and totally obliterated.

It wasn’t my fault, it was a tragic accident, wherein the holder fell into the sink, hitting against the porcelain and fragmenting into 11 million pieces instantaneously. Bits of holder went everywhere. But this story is not about shattered dreams toothbrush holders. It is about what a toothbrush holder says about your relationship.

As I mentioned above, I noticed the new holder that was now in its rightful place on the sink. My toothbrush, provided by my dentist, was on the right hand side, and David’s toothbrush, provided by the grocery store, was on the left. The toothbrushes were facing bristles away from each other, back to back, as it were. They didn’t even want to look at each other.

Mine faced the direction of the toilet; David’s faced the entrance to the bathroom and the main hallway of the house. Mine had a view of the toilet, and David’s had a view of a darkened, art filled hallway. My toothbrush was standing mostly upright, while David’s was leaning casually into the holder.

The base of his toothbrush was casually close to the base of mine…not touching it directly, but letting it know that it was near. The bristles faced away, but the handles experienced a mild level of intimacy down in the depths of the holder. The aqua toothbrush rubbed gently against the purple toothbrush, whispering sweet nothings about Colgate, Crest, and Arm and Hammer with baking soda.

Occasionally, the brushes would turn to look at each other, murmuring about residual traces of Listerine on their bristles, but casually wishing that they were the only toothbrush in the holder.

Perhaps it’s a little like a relationship. Sometimes you need that time apart…that time when you aren’t looking at each other all the time, but you still know the other person is there by the slight touch or presence you feel in your handle (or your heart – no double entendre intended). Sometimes it’s enough to know the person is there, in the other room, yes, but still there. It’s nice when they go out to the garage to work on their own projects, leaving you to your own devices in the house. They are away, but yet, still there.

In all relationships it’s important to have that alone time. Time to ponder life, to ponder good oral hygiene, time to ponder the state of the toilet or the hallway. And it’s also nice to know that when the light goes out at night, and all is quiet in the house, whether you’re looking at each other or not, you can feel your handles gently touching each other in the darkness.