Tale of Two Eyes

When people find out that you are a cop it usually leads to the same questions or the inevitable story about how some rogue officer who dared write them a ticket for something they certainly did not do.  The usual bullshit.  But sometimes, when I feel like actually giving them a response, the questions lead to that request for the savagery and gore with “what’s the worst thing you have ever seen”.

I’ve certainly seen things best left out of pleasant conversation and some things I wish I had never been forced to witness, but the answer to their question is not what most of them expect.  The worst thing I have ever seen was in the beautiful dark brown  eyes of two pretty young girls on two different nights.

They both occurred during my earlier days on these streets and I didn’t believe in things like letting a call hold for more than five minutes or going home on time.  It was near the end of the shift and a robbery occurred near my burglary scene.  I headed over to the duplex thinking it was another simple report and something to look for on the way to the station.

I was met at the door by a somber head of household and a living room filled with a family that wasn’t saying a word.  I realized that the man speaking to me was not just the eldest, but the only adult who appeared to speak English.  He walked me around showing me where they tied everyone up while I got his basic information but I noticed that he kept looking at the ground as we spoke. 

I was about to simply give him the case number after getting information from everyone in the home when I noticed a young woman who seemed alone in the center of the crowded living room.  She was sitting on the floor clutching a white robe to her body with both hands.  She was staring right at me and when our eyes met I suddenly knew what had happened to her.

Looking into those eyes, which I can still picture many years later, told me about the men who entered her home and then violated her body while the entire family was forced to listen at gunpoint.  She didn’t say a word to me - but I knew.

A translator arrived and confirmed what I already knew and several hours later I went home haunted by those eyes.  Several years later we went to trial and I found out that it was a group of men who had targeted the entire city breaking into homes and assaulting women.  They charged them with robbery and each one I testified about pled guilty to a life term after I described those eyes.

It was almost funny watching the first one try to stare me down in the courtroom.  The look made me want to laugh.  I had already stared into a set of eyes that burned their impression into me.  His eyes didn’t mean shit.



Another night in Houston - another shots fired call involving our local  street social clubs commonly known as “gang bangers”.  The shots were fired by one of the Hispanic gangs, most likely over something neither group remembers anymore, and left several people lying wounded behind a nightclub.  I can’t recall much more because shootings occur so often here that they blend in with each other as time passes.

The one thing I remember about this shooting was the pretty girl with a short black skirt  holding onto her boyfriend who had been shot in the chest.  Near the bottom of those stunning legs was the small cylindrical red dot of a clean gunshot wound just above the strap of her high heel shoe. 

I must have paused for a few seconds looking over everything while asking them if they knew which direction the shooters had fled.  I could get the details after I began the chase - but I wanted to get moving and catch them.  It was during those few seconds that I locked eyes with that young attractive girl.  I was only a few years older at the time and still believed I was the good guy.  I was there to help.

The look she gave me was pure hate.  I was struck at first by how strong she was to be shot and care only for the welfare of her friend.  Then I was just confused and hurt to realize that she loathed me more than the teenager who put that bullet in her.  I began the search for the suspects after that brief moment but I still don’t know if it was my aggressive nature to search for the suspects or merely to escape the accusations of those dark brown eyes.

Those people at the parties just don’t understand.  The worst thing about this job isn’t the things I’ve seen.  I’ve seen a pregnant teenager upside down pinned between a car filled with death and a telephone pole.  I can still hear the screams of people burning to death while I was helpless to act.  I’ve been crucified by an uncaring department for doing the right thing at the right time which went against some bullshit directive.

If I had to narrow it down to the worst thing it would be those eyes.  They taught me a lesson which is punctuated every time I strap on a patrol car and wait to hear that call from your house.  That tone going off pleading for some type of help from that faceless uniform. 

It taught me that I was there to share your fears and your pain and in return you will hate me for it.