Her entire past seemed like a blank. We knew that it existed, that the memories were in her head, and they'd come up from time to time for air, taking a breath of life, and she'd speak them out loud, or write them down, holding them close to her like prizes. And they were, for how hard she fought to regain them. A daily struggle. I realized that my recent lapse of memory was something totally different than that, though. I compared it to her amnesia as a point of reference only - because her amnesia was something that I had come to understand in a way. In her case, everything was lost, therefore only gain was possible. In mine, I didn't even know what I'd forgotten - except for a few things: the last time I'd used a cellular telephone, for example. That's but one small wave in a vast ocean of memory; nonetheless, it is a wave that I should have had recollection of.