Free No One in the World by E. Lynn Harris, RM Johnson

backward onto my rear. Looking up at the man, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The man staring back shocked and wide-eyed was the spitting image of me.
    He slowly reached out to grab my hand and help me up.
    I stared at his hand for a long moment before taking it. This man, who could be no one but my brother, pulled me to my feet.
    The corrections officer did a double take, then shook off the disbelief that momentarily appeared on his face and said, “I’m sorry, sir.” He turned angry eyes on my brother. “Get back to your cell and watch where you’re going next time.”
    â€œNo,” I said, my voice softer than I wanted it to be. “He’s fine.” Mybrother and I stared at each other for a long moment, as if we were the only two men in the corridor or in the prison.
    I finally spoke. “What is your name?” In my heart, I already knew the answer.
    â€œEric Reed,” my brother said. “Who are you?”
    I extended my hand to him. “Everette Reed, but please, call me Cobi. I’ll explain later.” I smiled.

18
    A fter my meeting with Roger Finch, I sat slumped in the chair across the table from where Roger had sat. Holding my head in my hands, I felt conflicted. I had given up looking for Eric but now had found him. Unfortunately, just as my sister predicted, he was not the man I thought he would be.
    I looked up at the cell door. The guard was still posted there. I could walk out, forget I ever saw Eric, and never come back. I didn’t have to ask why Eric was here. I already knew. Something told me he was the same man I’d prosecuted a hundred times in the past. He was DeAndré Moore. Roger Finch. I had no time or love for men like that.
    I stood, grabbed my briefcase, and walked toward the cell room door.
    The corrections officer said, “Is there anyone else you need to see, sir?”
    â€œNo,” I said, without giving it any thought. I walked ten feet or so, hearing his steps echo mine. I stopped. Eric was just like all those men I knew so well, but there was one difference. He was my brother. I turned to the CO. “On second thought, there is one more I need to see.”
    When I finished telling him all that happened to me over the last thirty years, Eric gave me a very strange look, one I didn’t think I could imitate,even though we had the same face. “Why didn’t the family that adopted you take me, too?”
    â€œThey said they only wanted one son.”
    â€œOh,” he said, frowning, looking away from me.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œI knew about you,” Eric said softly.
    â€œWhat?” I said, shocked. “How?”
    â€œMy mother—our mother—wrote me a letter when I was eight, explaining why she gave us up, apologizing, stuff like that.”
    â€œWhy did she do it?” I asked, yanking the seat out from under the table, and sitting so I could look directly into my brother’s eyes.
    He stared back at me and said simply, “We were too much for her. She was young, stuff going on, you know.”
    I didn’t know. I felt jealous, envious. We had both been given up, and even though I had been adopted by a wealthy family, even though I was raised by a mother and a father, it felt as though he knew our natural mother much more than I did.
    â€œWhy are you in here, Eric?”
    He scratched the back of his neck. “It hasn’t been easy for me.”
    And there it was. My brother was indeed one of those guys. “What hasn’t been easy?”
    â€œYou know . . . life.”
    â€œWere you ever adopted?” I asked.
    Eric shook his head. “One foster home to another. Shitty way to be raised, you know.”
    â€œOne day, I want you to tell me why you’re here. Can you do that?”
    â€œYou a big-time lawyer. Access my records. Find out for yourself.”
    â€œI don’t want to. I want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me. Why