Keep Your Eyes Down

Well the sun is shinin'
But it don't feel good
Don't smile down on this neighborhood
When I go walkin' through this stinkn' town
Mister, I keep my eyes down

The brotherhood of the misunderstood
Live and die here in all likelihood
You're livin' in this town
But I pray for sundown
And baby when you go downtown

You keep your eyes down
You keep your eyes down
You keep your eyes down
You keep your eyes down

Fair weather friends need not apply
The man of the house is not inside
Baby I'm keepin' my eyes down . . . .

-Eels

“Piker and Sampson: Floors, Holt and Mezner: Windows, Robertson: garbage . . . .”

It was chore day at The Chance and most of the young residents were gathered in the hall to hear Oliver Coeur, the head resident, read their assignments. Some gritted their teeth, grimaced, or rolled their eyes as they drew the most dreaded tasks, or celebrated in silence as they escaped for the week with a lighter duty, but nobody dared to utter their sentiment aloud. “Baker and Johnson: Kitchen and surfaces, Clowning and Warwick: Bathrooms . . . .”

“What?!” The exclamation sucked the breath out of the room and everyone waited tensely as Oliver trained his good right eye on the disgruntled speaker and raised his eyebrows. Warwick squirmed under his twenty one year old mentor‘s steely gaze. “It’s not fair, Oli,” he objected less certainly as he and Clowning stared at one another in distaste. “This is the third week in a row we’ve had to do that crappy job.”

“And you’re going to keep doing it until you do it right,” Oliver informed him easily. Warwick scowled but he remained silent and Oliver went back to reading his list. When he had dispersed all of the assignments, he unlocked the door to the cleaning supply closet and started handing out supplies. It was at this moment that the strident blare of the door buzzer interrupted what was so far promising to be a relatively quiet Sunday morning. “Yes?” Oliver paused in the midst of his activity to press and release the button on the small box that hung on the wall by the door.

“NYPD, Open up!” The reply dropped like lead through the intercom. Oliver leveled a look at his charges and, without a word, they scattered, busying themselves about their chores as Oliver closed the supply closet door and then buzzed his most unwelcome visitors in.

“Is Ben home?” The clearly irate officer inquired as he and his partner reached the top of the steps.

“Yeah, I’ll get him,” Oliver answered the officer, but his gaze was fixed on the young captive struggling in-between the two men. “Go on upstairs, Cody,” he directed quietly. Oliver’s soft spoken command achieved what no amount of force had so far accomplished; the young man ceased his struggles. The officers released him and with a sideways look at Oliver, Cody slunk past him towards the stairs. “Wait here please,” Oliver addressed the officers, now. “Ben’s in his study. I’ll just be a moment.” The officer who had inquired about Ben in the first place nodded and removed his hat. “The rest of you have things to do, so get moving,” Oliver snapped as he turned to find the majority of The Chance’s residents either gaping or glaring at the officers. No second command was needed as Oliver started down the hall and all the young men turned their attention once more to their chores.

*********************************************************************
Benjamin Leroi sighed as the door of his office closed behind the irate officer who had brought Cody home. It was the third time in as many weeks that the kid had violated his parole. He was supposed to be bagging groceries at the Safeway a few blocks down the way. Instead he’d been drawing on the various architectural structures belonging to New York’s finest neighborhoods with a spray can. To make matters worse, those neighborhoods “belonged” to one of the city’s most seasoned gangs, a gang that happened to be in direct opposition to the gang that Cody had been forcibly pulled out of just over a year ago. The police were losing patience, Cody’s employer was losing patience, and if the boy wasn’t careful, he was going to get himself killed.

Ben stood up from his desk and walked to the barred window at the end of the room. “Cleaning up the city my ass,” he muttered grimly as he gazed out at the traffic clogged streets. Everywhere you looked there were examples of artwork like Cody’s, but that was the least of the city’s problems. The stink of urine followed you wherever you went. The buildings were so tall, you literally had to crane your neck to see the sun, when there was one to look at which was rare. Even during the brightest days of summer, the smog, pollution, and the imposing bulk of man made structures conspired to keep out the warmest of the sun’s rays. The best days seemed dull and gray, and the worst days, well . . . there was no point in dwelling on it. Plenty of people thought New York an impressive city; Ben Leroi did not. So what kept him here? It was kids like Cody.

For ten years now, Ben had been running a “safe house” for hardened teens. Ben’s place, called The Chance, was the last stop before and the first stop after jail for some of New York’s most hardened young offenders. Some of them, Ben knew well, were beyond helping; they’d been abused by the system for too long. They’d ceased to become victims and had, themselves, become the abusers. Ben himself had grown up in the “system,” passed from home to home, handled like a piece of baggage, fitting in nowhere, wanted by no one. If anyone could reach these kids, Ben could. He was one of them. Sure, he was thirty-six now, almost thirty-seven, but the jagged scar on his right cheek, and the gang tattoo on his right arm served to remind him and everyone around him of the world he had come from. These kids were, in a sense, his family. He could not abandon them, especially not the young ones like Cody, the ones who still had a chance. Then again, he thought, still gazing out at the sky line, on days like this he sometimes felt he was getting too old for this shit. It was hard to keep going with a kid like Cody when, at every turn, the kid resisted his help.

A knock at the door of his office interrupted his meditation. “Come,” he responded without turning away from the window.

“Hey,” The voice belonged not to Cody as Ben had been expecting, but to another of the house’s residents. Cody had been sent to his room while Ben and the officer talked, and Ben knew the boy would be fretting about the outcome of the conversation; he didn’t want to go back to jail. The young man now peeking through his office door, however, was one of his all time favorite success stories. Oliver Coeur had been with Ben for almost three years now. He was no longer on parole and no longer obliged to remain in the house, but he stayed because of the deep bond he had formed with Ben, and because he really had no place else to go.

“Oli,” Ben greeted him warmly, turning to look at him. “Come in.” Oliver stepped in and closed the door, but then stood uncertainly, gazing at the man who'd become his friend, mentor, and protector. He wasn't sure how to broach the topic now on his mind. It was against protocol, even for him, to ask about other members of the house, and Oliver knew Ben's mood was not likely to be the best after the visit he'd just been paid. Still, he felt compelled to talk to the HOH while there was still time to influence him. “Everything ok?” Ben's voice jogged Oliver out of his indecision. “The boys ok?”

“Yeah, everything's fine,” Oliver started hesitantly.

“What's up?” Ben was looking at him quizzically, now, and Oliver shifted uneasily.

“Well, I was just wondering . . .,”Oliver paused.

“You were wondering,” Ben prompted.

“I was wondering what you're going to do,” Oliver finished quickly, not wanting to push Ben's patience. There was no need for him to elaborate and Ben turned back to the window, his brow puckering in frustration. Oliver waited a moment, but when after a minute, Ben had still not spoken, he ventured quietly, “You can’t let them take him back to jail.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to have a choice, Oli,” Ben returned in an aggravated tone.

“He’s too young, Ben,” Oliver persisted. “He’ll never survive in there!”

“I don‘t know what else to do, Ol!” Ben finally turned to face his protégé once more. “You know there’s only so much we can do if he doesn’t want help. I can’t watch him 24/7, and even if I could, what would be the point? If he needs that much supervision then he belongs in jail. I can’t trust him worth a damn, Oliver! And, I have to be able to trust him!”

“Ben, please . . .,” Oliver pleaded, evading his mentor’s scrutinizing eyes.

Ben contemplated him, thoughtfully. “Why are you so high on this kid?” he asked finally, though he thought he might know the answer. Oliver shrugged and was quiet, but Ben continued to gaze at him, meeting Oliver’s one good eye steadily, communicating his intent to receive a response.

Oliver frowned. “I don’t know, Ben,” he replied at last, shifting his feet. “It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try, Oli,” Ben prodded, “because, to be honest, I’m about through with him.”

Oliver was silent for another minute. He looked at the ground, and unconsciously his fingers drifted to his droopy left eye. “How close were you to being through with me?” he inquired softly at last, and Ben’s expression softened.

Oliver had been fifteen when he had come to the chance, three years younger than Cody was now, and the youngest juvenile The Chance had ever taken in. He’d been a tough kid, just like Cody; it was Oliver against the world back then. He hadn’t trusted anyone, least of all Ben. ‘That’s it,’ Ben thought. ‘It’s not about me trusting Cody. I’ve got to get Cody to trust me. But how?’ When Oliver was young, Ben had been young too, relatively speaking. He was twenty-seven that year, and The Chance was only in its second year of operation. He was a zealot, infused with the confidence that he could help all the kids in his care, and determined to prove it at all costs.

Now, Ben was thirty-six, and years of cold hard reality had begun to tell on his idealistic spirit. He’d helped a lot of kids, to be sure, but there were more than a few he had not been able to help and each of those kids had taken a little piece of Ben with them. It struck him in the course of his musings that Oliver was nearly the same age, now, that he had been when he had taken a chance on the rough and tumble teenager, and as the thought occurred, an idea started to form.

Oliver squirmed as Ben continued to gaze at him. Oli was used to being around people who could conceal their emotions; the kind of life they had all grown up with made the skill a necessity for survival. He was quite accomplished himself in this particular art, but no one, he knew, was better than Ben. Ben’s mask was impenetrable. What was worse, when Ben looked at you, he had a way of making you feel like he could see right inside you.

“All right, Oli,” Ben began finally, “I‘ll give him one more shot, but he is under maximum restriction, and I’m making him your responsibility.” Oliver looked up quickly to meet his mentor’s eyes, his heart beating faster. He’d definitely been given more responsibility in the last three years, since he’d been clean and off parole. He oversaw most of the general activities in the house and acted as a chaperone and care taker of sorts for the younger kids, but never had he been given a responsibility like this. His stomach churned, whether from excitement or anxiety, he couldn’t tell. “I will help you, of course,” Ben went on to assure him, “but you’ve been around here long enough to know how all this works. You’re young, and you have empathy for these kids as well as the passion it takes to help them. This is a natural next step for you, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Sir,” Oliver acknowledged, and as he said it, he realized it was true. He realized that he had in fact been waiting for an opportunity such as this. He wanted to help Cody, wanted to do for this kid what Ben had done for him.

“All right, then,” Ben allowed himself a small smile as Oliver reverted, unconsciously it seemed, to the formal address used by a majority of the residents. It had been a long time, a couple of years at least, since Ben had required his protégé to call him ‘Sir.’ “I guess you better go get him,” Ben instructed, now.

“Yes, Sir,” Oliver responded again.

“Oli,” Ben called him back as he turned toward the door. “Call me Ben. You want these kids, especially Cody, now, to see you as their unquestioned authority figure. That means they should view you on par with me, not below me.”

“Yes si . . . I mean, ok, . . . Ben,” Oliver responded.

“And, I want you to remain here while I talk to Cody,” Ben continued. Oliver shifted uneasily. Ben’s method of “talking” made the idea of being present feel more than just a little intrusive. He fingered his eye once more, a habit that betrayed his anxiety. Ben noted it, and made a mental vow to try and cure him of it. “It’s important for you to know first hand what’s been said, Oli,” he explained, “because once Cody understands that he answers to you, now, as well as me, he will certainly try to play you. All the kids know you to be more empathetic than I am,” he finished wryly. “Does that make sense?” he questioned when Oliver still seemed uncertain. Oliver nodded, but remained silent. It would be difficult to witness Cody’s disgrace. He’d been there so many times himself that, even knowing the kid deserved it, it was hard not to feel sympathetic. “All right, go on,” Ben instructed. Oliver nodded again without looking at Ben, and then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it again behind him.

************************************************************************There had been no need to knock on Cody’s door, as the boys were not allowed locks, nor were they permitted to refuse entrance to their caretakers at any time. All the same, having been a resident for so long himself, and knowing how invasive it felt to be subjected to such treatment, Oliver rapped on the door of Cody’s room and paused until he heard the reluctant, “Who is it?” from inside.

“It’s Oliver,” he responded respectfully.

“Come in,” came the grudging invitation.

“Am I going to jail?” Cody demanded belligerently, looking up from his bed where he was huddled as Oliver entered the room, and closed the door behind him.

Oliver looked back at the recalcitrant young man hugging his knees and doing his best to maintain his affected air of invincibility. Oliver remembered all too well what it felt like to be on Cody’s end of things, and despite the boy’s aggressive tone, all he saw was his vulnerability. He took the folding chair from Cody’s desk and sat down facing him, leaning on his knees, and gazing steadily at him. After a minute Cody looked away. “I think that’s really up to you, bud,” Oliver finally answered the question. “You want to tell me why you did this again?” Cody shrugged and scowled. No, actually. He really didn’t want to discuss it. “You’re pushing the line, Man,” Oliver continued. “Ben’s just about had it. He wants to help you, but there’s only so much he, or anyone, can do if you continue to pull shit like this. If he let’s you stay, things are bound to get a little tougher until he feels he can trust you again. He’s got to see some effort on your part, Code, or you will be going back to jail.” Cody put his face down on his knees and was quiet. He really did not want to go back to jail. “You’ve got to stop messing around, bud,” Oliver reiterated, pushing his advantage. “You’ve got to get away from that crowd you’re mixed up in.”

“They’re my family, Oliver!” Cody blurted defensively, raising his eyes to glare at him.

“I know it feels that way . . . .” Oliver began.

“They are the only family I’ve ever known!” Cody interjected acidly.

“Like it or not, we are your family too, now, Cody,” Oliver returned softly, and Cody rolled his eyes. “Family does not ask you to participate in things that are going to get you thrown in jail,” Oliver went on. Cody scowled and hid his face once more. “The bottom line, bud, is you now have a choice to make,” Oliver made his voice as compassionate as he could. “ It’s us or them. The Chance or jail. This is the last opportunity you’re likely to get, Man. Blow it and you’ll be on your own, understand?” He got no response. “Cody, answer me, please. Do you get what I’m saying to you?”

“Yes!” Cody spat without looking up. “Ok! I get it!”

“All right, bud, then, let’s go,” Oliver returned gently, getting up from his chair, and placing it back at the desk. Cody looked up at him and Oliver met his eyes. “Time to face the music,” he directed, not without sympathy. Cody’s scowl deepened, but he got up from the bed and preceded Oliver to the door.

Being escorted to Ben’s office always felt like what Cody imagined being marched to execution would feel like. The other boys in the hall, kitchen, and bathrooms, averted their eyes or turned away as Oliver and Cody approached. They all of a sudden seemed much more intent on their various chores, and the house seemed twice as quiet as it had only seconds before. Nobody met his eyes. There were really no such things as “friends” at The Chance; nobody trusted one another well enough for that. There were, however, temporary alliances always being made and broken, and there was a common bond when it came to authority figures. The “us” against “them” mentality was well understood in that case. Ben’s method of discipline was well known, and a grudging sort of empathy for anyone about to face him was always the prevailing sentiment. Not even the worst of enemies wished Ben on one another. They preferred to handle things themselves.

************************************************************************

“Well, young man,” Ben started without hesitation as Oliver and Cody entered the room and Oliver closed the door. “What have you got to say for yourself?“ Cody didn’t answer, but looked disconcertedly at Oliver who at this point traditionally left the teenagers on their own to face the master of the house. “Oliver will be staying this time,” Ben answered the young delinquent’s unformed question. “You should know that it is entirely due to Oliver that you are not, at this moment, heading back to Lincoln Correctional Facility. You might start by thanking him.”

“Thanks,” Cody muttered. He was trying to maintain his veneer of toughness, but an edge of genuine sincerity slipped into his voice, nonetheless.

“No problem, bud,” Oliver replied feelingly.

“I want Oliver here because I want him to hear exactly what I’m about to say,” Ben continued. “He is the best friend you’ve got right now, make no mistake about it, and whatever he tells you, if I were you I’d make up my mind to listen very closely and follow his advice. Understand?” Cody nodded. “What was that?” Ben prompted. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Cody replied, “I understand.”

“Good. Then, do you have anything else to say?” Cody shook his head. “Well, that’s just as well,” Ben said, “because to tell you the truth, I really don’t feel like hearing it. I’m sick of the excuses, Cody, sick and tired of trying to understand how it is that you end up here in my study every week while you and I have this same conversation. This is it, my boy, the last time, your one last shot, got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Cody replied, looking at his feet.

“If I have to intervene one more time with Officer Lawrence or any other member of the police force on your behalf, we are done, capiche?” Cody nodded. “You will be restricted to the house until further notice,” Ben continued. “The police are mandating that you wear an ankle monitor which they will be bringing by tomorrow. You will have twenty minutes to get to and from work each day and will have to enter a code into a special machine on each end. The officers will show you how it works. You also have ten minutes to get to and from meetings with your parole officer on Wednesdays and Fridays. And for the next month, you are going to spend Saturdays with a work group, helping to clean the city of handiwork like yours. Other than that you are here, understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Cody replied sullenly.

“You will write a letter of apology to Officers Lawrence and Rogers, for wasting their time. You will bring me this letter first thing tomorrow morning. Are we clear?” Cody clenched his teeth, but he nodded once more. “Any problems or questions, Oliver is the one you bring them to, now, and he is going to be keeping an eye on you. He will report any missteps on your part directly to me. That is why, as I was saying earlier, you would do well to make him your new best friend. Any questions?” Cody shook his head. “All right then, come over here,” Ben commanded sternly.

Cody blanched, looking at Oliver, who was now leaning with his back against the wall by the door. Oliver’s eyes filled with sympathy, but he said nothing and Cody looked timidly back at Ben. “Come,” Ben directed once more as he picked the rounded leather paddle up off his desk. Cody swallowed hard, and took a deep breath, but knew there was no point in delaying; it would only make things worse in the end. Tremulously, he approached the master of the house and stood in front of him. “Take your pants down, boy, and drop your drawers,” Ben ordered. Cody flushed, and trying not to think of Oliver’s presence behind him, he fumbled with first the button, then the zipper of his jeans. With a crimson face, he slid them to his ankles and his boxer shorts after them. “Bend,” Ben instructed then, and Cody did so.

What a walloping the poor boy got that night. Oliver cringed each of the fifteen times the paddle thudded down onto Cody’s firm, young bottom, but, to his credit, Cody took the licking stoically. He squeezed his eyes shut hard, held his breath, and gritted his teeth to hold back the tears. An especially hard swat or one that landed in the same spot as its predecessor elicited, on occasion, a small whimper or grunt, but other than that nothing. Oliver was the least of his problems, he knew. Every ear in the place right now was tuned into the sounds coming from Ben’s study. To endure a licking from Ben had become a matter of pride among the boys. Bearing it quietly could earn you respect and bring you a certain amount of power within the ranks. Crying and complaining on the other hand was a sign of weakness, and was not tolerated well. It gained you no sympathy, and, in the end, it would only cause you more problems.

Finally, the paddling came to an end, and Cody was allowed to stand up. Ben took him by the arm and looked him earnestly in the face. “I expect you to remember our conversation tonight, young man!” he stated firmly as Cody blinked to force back the tears. “Are you clear about everything that was said?”

“Yes, sir,” Cody replied shakily.

“All right, then,” Ben let him go, “go on and get yourself together.” Stiffly, Cody bent to pull up his jeans and underwear, gasping a little as the material grazed his red and blistered rear end. He buttoned and zipped himself in and then looked at Ben once more. “You can go,” Ben authorized.

“Thank you, sir,” Cody’s voice cracked as he responded, and keeping his head down he limped his way slowly to the door. He didn’t look at Oliver, and Oliver too kept his eyes on the ground.

“I expect that letter on my desk first thing, tomorrow, Cody,” Ben cautioned as the disgraced teenager opened the door and slipped into the hall. Cody looked back and nodded to show he had heard. He didn’t dare try his voice now.

Finally it was over. He closed the door behind him and concentrated hard on keeping it together. Every inch of his progress was followed by sympathetic eyes, but he looked neither to the right nor left as he made his way painstakingly down the hallway. He did not look back to see the other boys gathering behind him, but he heard their low whispers as he made his way step by excruciating step up the stairs and down the hallway to his room. At last, though, he was there. He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind him. Tears began to streak his face, now, but still maintaining his quiet dignity, he managed to undo his jeans once more and slip them off along with his boxers. He left them crumpled in a heap in the middle of the floor and then crawled face down into his bed, hugging the pillows and hiding his face as with shoulder shaking sobs, he finally began to let go.