As the Fernandezes’ lawyer pleaded their case, Matteo took my hand, his skin cold. His breath shuddered out of him as his ‘troubled’ history was laid bare.
He was accused of being a difficult teen because he’d skipped out on Bible study several times and was found at a friend's house. The fact that they had to hire psychologists to ‘correct his behavior’ was levied against him as a serious offense. They stated that his attitude had become atrocious so they’d sent him to a boot camp to which a statement from a counselor was submitted as evidence of his refusal to comply with the program. As the lawyer depicted Matteo as an out of control teenager, I balled my fist. I didn’t know every detail of his life and was aware there were deeper hurts he hadn’t yet shared, but it was clear they were desperate if the worst thing they could come up with was playing hooky from Bible study. There was some more bullshit nit-picky things like the ear piercing he’d given himself with a sewing needle at fifteen. How the lawyer could frame such a thing as mutilation was both infuriating and baffling.
Matteo was right. They wanted to destroy him on the account he was gay. It was enough to drive me to assault. His hand was clammy in mine, and I gave it a good squeeze to remind him I had his back.
The lawyer saved the best for last and painted Matteo as a promiscuous teen because he’d been discovered in his room with another boy, tangled in a compromising position. This whole thing was so stupid and vindictive it made my own parents look like saints.
The Fernandezes’ lawyer finally rested and Mr. Salvatore, who had been silent and still the entire time, perked up. “Thank you, counselor, for that colorful embellishment of my client’s history. I imagine, your honor, if the worst thing our kids do is pierce their own ears, we should count ourselves lucky.”
I passed a look at the judge, noting the tick at her lips. She was amused but was determined to remain professional.
Matteo relaxed as his lawyer jumped right in. He attacked the credibility of the boot camp counselor with documentation showing he was an uncredited chaplain with no psychological training nor experience in working with children. He moved on to the boot camp itself, highlighting the fact that the organization running it was found liable for abuse of minors. “Let’s call it what it really is. A cleverly disguised attempt to pray the gay away.”
“Objection. Unfounded allegations.”
“Really?” Mr. Salvatore asked, holding up a stack of papers. “You’re going to argue against state records?”
They went back and forth for a few minutes until the judge dismissed the Fernandezes’ lawyer’s argument.
“My client has always been a model student. He has shown excellence not only in academics, to which he graduated in the top ten percent of his class, despite allegedly suffering from mental illnesses. Freshman year of high school, he wonan award for an essay submission to a religious magazine about what God means to him.
My favorite part of that one-thousand-word work is this:To me, God is everywhere. He is in the summer sunshine and the silver moonlight. The wind is him at my back, spring birdsong is his voice. He is the sound of my piano as his hands guide my own. Wherever I look he surrounds me with his glory, and I am reminded of the beauty of this world, so amazingly created it makes me cry.
It’s quite inspiring. I’m wondering what part of his work might be Mr. or Mrs. Fernandez’s favorite?”
As the silence stretched and the lawyer’s question remained unanswered, it told everyone in the room what they needed to know: They didn’t give a shit about the unique person he was. I wondered if they truly didn’t know or just didn’t care.
“In any case, not only is my client an exemplary student, but he is also a compassionate and dedicated member of the church. All throughout high school he was the student president of the Teens for Christ club. Furthermore, he is a gifted musician, having played for several religious festivals and fundraisers. Recently, he has been volunteering at an LGBTQ center as well as dispensing aid to immigrants.”
As Mr. Salvatore spoke, I watched Matteo’s parents for any hint of emotion. I was surprised by the little chin wobble from his mother as she looked down. The lawyer went on, sure to detail every accomplishment and award Matteo had ever received. I squeezed his hand. I was an interloper listening to the high and low points of his life from other people when it should have been him telling me these things. But he’d trusted me enough to let me into the ugly part of his life.
“I submit to this court an account from Larry Davis, an accredited and decorated piano instructor that taught my client for several years. He has shown musical talents uncommon fora young child and deemed a prodigy. Yet, those talents went ignored by his parents, and his promise retarded. I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Your honor, I’m confused as to why we are here. My client has proven himself to be a bright student, compassionate soldier of Christ, and a contributing member of society. So I cannot fathom why the Fernandezes seek to deny him his inheritance except for the simple fact that he is gay.”
The other lawyer objected, but the point was as clear as shattering glass. All they could do was sit there and look like the terrible and negligent parents they were. The two lawyers argued it out for several minutes and I was glad Mr. Salvatore was on Matteo’s side.
“Are you resting, counselor?” The judge asked.
“I’d like to finish with this,” Mr. Salvatore said as he hit some buttons on a remote control. He got up and killed the lights as a video started playing on the screen attached to the wall. It was a phone-recording of Matteo at the Walnut Room playing piano, his sweet music filling the sterile conference room. When it cut off, Mr. Salvatore started speaking. “I’m not a religious person, but the gift my client was given has made me rethink that position.”
Things ended faster than I’d expected. Technical details were discussed such as Matteo agreeing to talk to a psychologist once a week for two years to satisfy the court. I zoned out, focusing on Matteo. I wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, how he’d opened my eyes, that he deserved so much more than he’d been dealt.
“Wait, can I say something?” Matteo blurted out. He leaned into his lawyer who seemed reluctant to the idea.
“You understand that anything you might say could affect my ruling,” the judge said. “And that you will be addressing the court?”
“I do, your honor. I'll be brief,” he said and nodded at something Mr. Salvatore whispered.He took a deep breath and reconnected our hands under the table. “I haven’t spoken to my parents in three years. I was certain when I got to see them today, I’d feel anger. Ishouldbe angry. But I’m just sad because it hurts my heart that for all my father’s devotion to God, he’s forgotten the most important lesson of all—To love. I want him to know that I will pray he finds his way back to love. That was my grandmother's greatest gift to me.”
He quoted Bible verses about loving neighbors and caring for the less fortunate. When he was finished he passed me a smile, a glimmer of the man I knew shining in his eyes. I was so proud of him for standing up to his parents.
“Okay, if no one has anything else to add, we’re going to adjourn. I’ll review the evidence submitted and take into consideration everything I’ve heard and make my decision promptly.”
The lawyers shook hands and Matteo quickly scrambled for the exit and to the safety of the corner we’d hidden in earlier.
I cupped his face in my hands, the tears glittering in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Matty.”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to speak,” he said and dried his eyes. “I thought I’d be too scared.”
“Because you’re a tough cookie,” I said and kissed his forehead.
