This short story is a satirical fiction, which is loosely based on actual events and the controversial 2015 U.S. Supreme Court case Obergefell v. Hodges. It seeks in no way to be disrespectful towards Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia— who openly opposed same-sex marriage—his family, or those who share his beliefs.
Antonin Scalia frowned, his chin melting into his neck. He looked distastefully in the mirror. His eyes regarded the way his suit slumped over his shoulders and hung loose around the arms with vexation. The weight of Obergefell V Hodges, his rotund belly, self-hatred, arrogance, and internalized homophobia was crippling. Antonin grasped a fist full of greasy hair–or what was left of it–with his paunchy fingers. Then, he turned to the only person he revered enough to consult: himself.
“Alright, Supreme Justice. You’ve hidden it all your life. You are a virtuous man. Good people depend on you as the voice of reason. Personal sentiments lay below the law.” He gave himself a menacing look as if to demand his own obedience. The Justice didn’t comply.
“But what will Jeffrey think of me?” he fretted. “A secret affair is one thing. It would be unusual not to have one as a political figure. In that respect, I’m just upholding tradition. But I, his boyfriend, voting against same-sex marriage? He’d never forgive me! I’ll be stuck with Maureen for all dam eternity,” he wailed. Antonin laced his hands rigidly behind his back and paced across the marble bathroom floor, deeply contemplating his own words.
“What’s so wrong with Maureen? You’ve had nine kids with her, it can’t be all that bad.”
“Ah, to hell with Maureen! I can close my eyes, can’t I? The problem is that I’m too far deep. I’m the upholder of good ol’ conservative values–I’m a faithful Christian! And God has seen it all, everything I’ve done with Jeffrey, Donald Trump…the men whose names I never cared to ask…” he hung his head shamefully. “This is His punishment. Making me decide between sacrificing sinful, sweet, passionate, RAGING love or dismantling my public image, reputation… I’d lose my family! My life! My everything!” He let out a distraught sigh.
“Well,” Antonin reasoned, focus fixed on his hairy toes, “there’s always a chance that they’ll think you were brainwashed by the Russians if you choose to rule in favor.” He halted abruptly and turned back to face himself in the mirror, struck by his own ludicrously.
“The Russians,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “That’s my best hope, pfff, putting the blame on Putin? I really am doomed–”
A hesitant knock came at the door. “Antonin?” a woman’s voice interrupted. He grunted. “Honey, are you almost ready? You have an appointment at the Marble Palace,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“Goddamit, Maureen!” Antonin bellowed, “They ain’t starting jack shit without me there. Let me alone.” Maureen let out a deflated but expecting sigh. He waited stubbornly until her footsteps were out of earshot before checking his watch.
“Christ, I have 20 minutes.” Sheer panic nearly swept Antonin off his feet. His chubby cheeks flushed with hot blood, and sweat beaded along his wiry brows. He felt his heart slam so fast against his ribs that he began calculating the likelihood of an aneurysm and whether or not it would be a bad thing.
The Justice collapsed dramatically against the wall, letting himself slide down until he reached the floor with a thud. He sat limply, legs sprawled like a rag doll.
“Jesus, what do I do?” Antonin rubbed his forehead with a clammy palm. “I don’t want to lose Jeffrey. I’m sorry for saying that, you know, you hate us homosexuals, Jesus. Every sensible being knows that’s hogwash. Even the priests! I just thought that was what Righties wanted to hear. Back in the day, if I were openly with Jeffrey, I’d get burned at the stake–or worse, exposed!”
Antonin shimmied to straighten his spine. He chucked hoarsely, “We have a nondisclosure agreement, right? You’re not going to write “Antonin Scalia” is gay in the sky? Jesus, I know I’m a terrible person, but please don’t return to the mortal realm just to out me for spite. I let my political ambitions get the best of me. We earthly beings are vulnerable to corruption and slaves to our desires, pursued or not.”
There was a pause. Antonin tilted his face towards the ceiling, radiating dim synthetic fluorescence, and closed his sunken eyes. Tears began to slip from the edges. They trickled down, and for the first time, Antonin felt as though he was defeated. He found the swell of emotion nauseating.
The lamenting Justice began to cackle deliriously as he wept. He wheezed violently in the same fashion as a winded purebred pug.
“Do you see what I’ve become?” he sputtered. “I’m a closeted homosexual senior citizen who headlines every newspaper as the biggest asshole in the States.” He lifted a quivering arm and used his sleeve to brush away the foul liquid humanity that had escaped.
Antonin squinted up and addressed the porcelain sink like a trusted friend. “I’m teetering on the edge of sanity,” he confided. “If I were to suddenly change my extremist stance, the press would say I’m off my rocker, short-circuited, knocked a screw loose! I’d be institutionalized– deemed a madman even!”
“Let’s face it,” Antonin groaned, “it’s too late to make peace with the general public. I’ll never be the good guy. I’ve dug my grave too deep.” He patted his porky abdomen in dismay.
Antonin was struck by a sudden urge, which he had promised himself he would suppress the days leading up to the trial. But alas, he gave in.
Shifting his weight on his right hip—a taxing venture— he wrestled his secret trap phone free from his pant pocket. The device was used for secret communication with Jeffrey, and sometimes when he wanted to feel young again, Grindr. He held the device in his palm, choking on hesitation. Antonin pulled out his 80’s relic, brownish-gold aviator spectacles from his chest pocket. Was it a coincidence that Jeffrey Dahmer wore the same ones? Maybe.
Fastening the glasses over his nose, he meticulously entered his password, “Antonin Scalia is Gay.” Antonin thought this quite clever. He thought himself a smooth operator. The man took a deep breath, inflating the entirety of his gut. A pant button snapped off.
“Rats,” he hissed. Antonin checked his watch wearily. Ten minutes left. With a sudden onset of urgency, he dialed Jeffrey’s number. He furiously chewed the innards of his cheek, small chunks of bloody flesh coming loose. But the Justice was immune to the pain, it could be bubble gum for all he cared. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and his arteries clogged to the point of no return. A voice answered on the other line.
“Hello, my love,” Jeffrey answered, “aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” Antonin immediately calmed at the sound of his lover speaking.
“Oh, Jeffrey. I had to call you.” He tried to keep his composure but blurted out, “I need to know, will you leave me if I vote against same-sex marriage?” The silence that ensued was deafening. Then came an amused laugh on the other line.
“Anty,” Jeffrey started, “you have publicly compared homosexuality to murder and bestiality. Why in the hell do you think I’d be bothered by this? I know who you are, and I love you.”
“But–”
“Shhh,” Jeffrey interrupted, “you know the motto. Don’t bring politics to the bedroom, don’t bring the bedroom into politics.” Antonin couldn’t suppress a mischievous smirk. He loved the man. So. Damn. Much.
“You sure have a way with words, Jeff.” He let an atrocious “hehe” slip from his bloody mouth. Yes, like the Michael Jackson memes. “You should be on the Supreme Court–always so rational, intelligent….”
“Well, Mr. SUP-RE-ME JUS-TICE deserves the best,” Jeffrey teased, exaggerating each syllable.
“Yea, yea, Jeff, enough with your mockery,” he scolded. But Antonin was smiling. He collected himself and rose from the floor painfully slow. “Well, all in favor of voting against same-sex marriage?”
“All in favor,” Jeffrey laughed.
“Well, it’ll be legalized anyway,” he disclosed. “Kennedy is on board, so I’ve heard. That makes majority…” he trailed off, lost in thought.
“That should take some pressure off,” Jeffrey offered.
“Yea,” Antonin agreed, his tone faltering. “Just those damn lucky kids are going to be living the dream that we never could.”
And with that, Supreme Court Justice Salia draped himself with the prestigious robe, concealing his blubber and once again veiling his lifelong secret. Then, he proceeded to make some of the most outlandish, degrading, offensive homophobic statements in modern history.
A year later, Antonin was found dead at the Cibolo Creek Ranch Resort in Texas. Legend has it that he was on a romantic retreat with his dear Jeffrey. It is believed that the men’s lust got out of hand, leading the Supreme Justice to die tragically of a heart attack–or excitement. But we may never know.
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