The Moment My Friend Met Me Again for the First Time

A friend of mine lost his memory.

Sounds like a movie, I know. But it’s, sadly, real. He’d been sleeping for five days, practically without waking up in-between. He’d gone off the grid. We didn’t know a thing about him. And then yesterday, he suddenly reappeared … with no memory of me whatsoever.

He remembered his name and his family and his home address. But he couldn’t tell how old he was or who his friends were. He lost all memory of the past few years of his life, and the memories before that are still vague. When he saw his reflection in the mirror the first time, he took a step back in shock: he looked so much older than he remembered—he even had a beard! When he saw his brother, he was startled for a while because he remembered him to be younger.

He can’t remember his friends, his girlfriend, his job. Nothing. It’s all gone.

I saw a text message from him yesterday, but it was quite rough, not the way I’m used to from a guy who always makes people laugh. It’s not the first time that he’s lost some of his memories, so I quickly realized from the pattern what must have happened to him. Gradually, I started to talk to him and explain what I knew about what had happened in his life since I knew him. He sounded quite shaken, and he was sitting with a man I didn’t know, a man who claimed to be a friend.

I was going out of my mind.

It was like the whole universe was against me yesterday, really, because everything I tried to help failed. Every phone I tried to contact was turned off or broken down. There was no one I could reach that could do something. And I wasn’t even in Cairo; I couldn’t go down there myself if I wanted to. I didn’t have the contact number of any of his family members. I didn’t know what to do.

For three hours, I acted only on instinct.

I did two things simultaneously: I comforted my friend in every way I could, and I tried harder than I ever thought I could to reach someone who could help. Eventually, I did manage to call his brother and recite what happened, and I called a mutual friend of ours who lived nearby and had him get dressed and go meet him where he was. I just wanted someone I knew to be there with him, to make sure he was safe. (Except that that mutual friend started coughing blood on the way there. It was the first time it ever happened to him. It wasn’t the best day in my life, really.)

But here’s where the point behind writing this whole story comes.

I met this friend, the hero of this story, ten months ago, and we quickly clicked and became very good friends. Yesterday, I got to meet him again … for the first time. I remember him—I have ten months’ worth of memories with him—but he didn’t know me. And yet … he trusted me. He trusted me yesterday, and he trusted me today. He trusts me still. He decided I was a friend and he chose to put faith in me and depend on me for support.

It’s … crazy.

I have so many emotions filling me up, almost to the point of overflowing, but amidst them, there’s this warm feeling. He doesn’t know me, but he saw enough to trust me, to know I care. It’s a very nice feeling, really. We’re getting to know each other anew. It’s just like movies. He’s changed in many respects, but at heart, he’s still the same: sarcastic, strong, and bearing hardship silently and gracefully.

He said he was lucky to have me, but … I’m the lucky one, really, for getting to start a friendship with the same person, twice. It’s weird and confusing and haunting and compelling.

When he regains his memories, I sincerely hope he doesn’t lose the ones we’re experiencing day to day now. Because amidst all the stress and all the pressure and all the fear and all the hardships, there’s a bright red rose that's come bursting from the concrete.

It’s a line from Coldplay’s Charlie Brown.

Yesterday, I lived in constant terror for about three hours. It took me another two to calm down completely after I knew my two friends were safe, the one with the memory loss and the one who was coughing up blood. When I spoke to my friend on the phone and heard his voice and made sure he was safe and fine—as fine as it gets, considering the circumstances—I broke down on the nearest chair crying. I finally let myself deal with the true amount of stress I would not allow myself to consider for three hours. When I was done, I felt empty, depleted. It’s like when the relief after a traumatizing event is so intense you go weak at the knees.

But today, I woke up early and I spoke with my friend all day. I got to experience our friendship from a whole new perspective. I got to support him like I never did before, like he never needed before. He told me that of all the people he “knew,” I was the one who understood what he was going through the most. We’re living in constant gratitude now, a warm circle of support and care and trust.

I know he’s going to get through this. I know that if anyone can pull this off, it’s him. He acts like everything is slight, but he’s been through a lot. He doesn’t know it now, but that guy has quite some strength in him. I am learning more from him now than I absorbed in all ten months combined. And me and his other friends are growing closer because we’re all sharing the same worry for him.

He brought us all together in one big circle of people with one thing in common: we care about him.

When he regains his memories, I hope he doesn’t forget this. I hope he learns what he needs from this experience and moves on to grow. I hope he comes out of it with the best outcome possible. But really, I know that he already has.

August 12th, 2019