The door swings open and Adam is standing there, filling most of the door frame. His beard is long and scruffy, but it doesn’t look bad. His hair is cut so short it flashes between visible and not, depending on the light. He appears to be a bit thicker, not in a fat way, more of a stocky way. But his eyes tell the real story. Prison has not been kind to him. While being known as the murderer of a cop’s wife didn’t hurt his “cred” inside, they still could see what he was, a soft artist. A broken man out of his element. Chum in the water as the sharks slowly circle and close in. I can’t imagine what he’s been through in here.

His face lights up when he sees me. He is completely devoid of his boyish charm. He is a man who has been beaten down for a decade. I give a partial smile back. I can’t say I’m happy to see him, but I’m also not sad to see him either.

“You came?” He takes a few more steps into the room. His arms and feet are shackled around his waist so his steps are quite small and more like a shuffle.

“Of course.”

The prison guard directs him to the chair. He removes most of the chains and cuffs, aside from one from his right wrist, which he hooks to the table. Adam takes a seat and smiles at me.

“Ten minutes and no funny business,” the prison guard says.

I nod at him and Adam thanks him. As soon as the door closes, Adam slides his free hand across the table, hoping that I’ll reciprocate. I pause for a moment, looking at his cracked, beaten hand and at his even more beaten face, and then I acquiesce. My hand encloses his, and he begins to cry. I can do nothing but stare back in wonder, like a spectator at the zoo, observing some foreign species.

“How have you been?” he finally says as he fights back all the emotions of a life stolen.

“I’ve been… good.”

“You stopped writing and visiting?”

I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, so I just nod. “I know… it became… too hard.”

“I understand.” He hangs his head.