322 Passerine Place and The HGTV Defense

“Can you state your name for the record, please?”

“Pablo Moreno.”

“And your date of birth?”

“12/16/78.”

“Where do you currently live?”

“Here in Valley Heights, Texas.”

“I meant, what neighborhood?”

“Corona Hills.”

“And Mr. Moreno, do you realize you are charged with trespassing -- namely, squatting in an unoccupied residence, specifically the home located at 322 Passerine Place -- on the evening of Friday, December 10th? How do you wish to plead?”

“I plead not guilty,” I said in almost a whisper. I was scared. I have never had to make a plea before. And the only other time I was in a courtroom was to contest a traffic ticket, which I did successfully.

“Come again, Mr. Moreno?” the judge asked and cupped his left ear.

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor started, “the defendant has pled not guilty.”

“So noted,” the judge, chin in hand, muttered. “Continue.”

“I can give you a precise rundown of the events, Your Honor, and Counselor. If I may?”

“Mr. Moreno, you are under oath and sworn to testify on your behalf,” the judge said. “And since you waived your right to counsel and chose to represent yourself, you have to follow adequate procedure.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” I said, “but I believe my testimony will shed light on why I did what I did, and why I feel I will be exonerated.” I felt good about using that word, exonerated, because it sounded cool in the courtroom. “I can save Counsel some time with this. But he can chime in with questions if they come up. Is that okay?”

“Sounds like a confession of guilt to me,” the prosecutor said under his breath and tucked his hands into the trouser pockets of his nice navy blue single-breasted suit. The judge shot him a brief look, then turned to me.

“Proceed, Mr. Moreno.”

“Thank you. Your Honor, my friend Elaine Welch is a realtor. You’ve probably seen her lovely face on bus stop benches in town, especially in the Astoria Village, Fillmore, and Sunrise Station neighborhoods since those are her areas of focus.”

“I have, Mr. Moreno,” the judge said.

“Anyway, Elaine Welch was the realtor for the home at 322 Passerine Place. She would often invite me to go visit her and keep her company at one of her other open houses, because she’s usually at the residence by herself while her husband takes care of their daughter at home or at a nearby park. When the first open house she had for the Passerine Place home took place in early October, she invited me and I went. I ran into her as she arrived to prepare the house for the showing, and memorized the code for the lock box in which the key was stored. Since I was there I helped her tidy up the house for its first showing.

“If you’re familiar with the Fillmore neighborhood, Counselor and Your Honor, it’s a pretty hip area, and Elaine told me the best time to buy a house there would have been five years ago. The second best time would be now. Based on my current salary I would barely be able to make the mortgage payments but not eat or pay utilities. Besides, I was at a decent apartment over in Corona Hills. My landlord has kept my rent pretty reasonable, and I have a parking spot. So I’m set. But whenever a great house comes on the market, one wonders, you know?

“So the first night I went to stay at the house was October 17th. I drove to the Fillmore area and parked at the corner of Passerine and… no, wait. Passerine Place is a cul-de-sac. I parked on Hayward, one block over, and walked up Astoria Avenue to Passerine and to the house. I never parked my car in the driveway because that would have drawn unwanted attention. Since I memorized the lock box combination, I got the key and walked in. Of course I made sure no one saw me. Throughout this time, I kept paying rent for my apartment while I stayed at the Passerine Place home during the week, and went back to my apartment on Friday evenings since Elaine had the open house showings for the property on the weekends. That way my landlord didn’t get suspicious and either way I had a roof over my head -- one being my current home, and the other what I aimed for in the perpetual ‘someday’ everyone has in mind. Which really is more a ‘maybe in another life’ in my case, but I digress.

“Whenever I left Friday evenings, I always made sure I kept the house in the same condition as when I entered Sunday evenings. I cleaned the house and saved Elaine some of the trouble in preparing it for the showings, so all she had to do was add her touches to make the house more appealing.

“Elaine told me at the first showing that the house may be on the market for a while since the asking price was considered very high for Valley Heights, especially for the up-and-coming Fillmore neighborhood--”

The judge raised his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Moreno. Counselor, any questions?”

“Mr. Moreno, do you know what the word ‘squatting’ means?”

“I do.”

“Can you please provide your definition for the record?”

“Gladly. Squatting is residing illegally in an abandoned building or property. What I am accused of is not squatting, see? The house at 322 Passerine Place was not abandoned, but put on the market and temporarily unoccupied, so there is a distinction there. And my stay was short-term. I also add that ‘squatting’ is used mostly in reference to dilapidated buildings, more like the old warehouses in the West Downtown area. I know there have been some homeless people squatting there for a while. And squatters usually don’t take care of where they live, outside of the barest requirements to live in the place. I took pride in taking care of the home I chose to temporarily reside in, by lubricating the hinges on the doors, cleaning the windows and dusting everywhere. My payment, if you will, for my services was to satisfy my longtime ambition to live in a house I could have called my own.”

The prosecutor jotted some notes from his desk, then stood to ask a few questions.

“Mr. Moreno, you mentioned you took care of items in the house like the door hinges, and cleaned and dusted the home. What did you do when something was broken?”

“I didn’t fix anything broken,” I replied. “If I attempted a fix and later it was found to be faulty during an inspection, that could have gotten my friend Elaine in trouble. And I know how hard she studied to become a realtor, so for me to jeopardize her career with a half-assed drywall patch or amateur plumbing job... No, I couldn’t do that to her, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever did.”

“So nothing was done to the house, outside of the door hinges being lubricated, and the home being cleaned and dusted.”

“Oh, and I cleaned the windows. I did that, too.”

“Okay. You said you left the house Friday evenings, because on Saturday and/or Sunday your friend Elaine had open house showings for the property, correct?”

“Correct.”

“To reestablish the facts in this case, you said that October 17th was the first evening you spent in the house at 322 Passerine Place?”

“Correct.”

“And when were you arrested by the Valley Heights Police Department for trespassing?”

“It was the second Friday in December. Uh, December 10th.”

“Okay. To reiterate, you did not alter the house in any way?”

“That is correct.”

“So you always left the house in the same condition as you saw it upon entering?”

“I did, absolutely.”

The judge twirled the gavel by its handle in his fingers. The bailiff scratched his chin.

The prosecutor stepped toward the witness stand.

“Can you explain the crack in the bathroom?” he asked. The judge’s eyebrows raised slightly. "Your Honor, I present Exhibit A, a photo of the crack in the wall of the bathroom at 322 Passerine Place."

“I was never in the bathroom -- or should I say, that bathroom.”

“‘That bathroom’?” the prosecutor asked, right eyebrow arched.

“The house on Passerine Place had two bathrooms, three bedrooms. One of the bathrooms were in the master bedroom, and the other was in the main hallway leading from the kitchen to the bedrooms. When I took up temporary residence in the house I spent the night in the master bedroom, since that had its own bathroom.”

“But you were aware of the crack in the second bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to patch up the crack?”

“Correct. As I said before, I did not want to do anything to the house that could jeopardize my friend Elaine’s career as a realtor.”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said and sat down.

“Your Honor, if I may, can I make one final statement?” I asked.

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said, though he looked a little exasperated. “Make it brief.”

“I will do my best,” I replied, then took a drink of water. “Thank you. Your Honor, there is nothing in the world more satisfying than the sound of closing the door to your home. Be it an apartment, where I currently live, or in this case, the residence at 322 Passerine Place, the property in question. When you close the door, that sound is confirmation you are in what you have established as your home, the place you have worked your tail off to establish as such, be it by renting, or purchasing, or in my case by borrowing it in order to satisfy my curiosity of being able to afford it, maybe in another life.

“I have no problem with my current choice of shelter. I get along fine with my landlord, I pay my rent on time, I keep my apartment in pristine condition. It is my home. Home is both permanent and temporary. Granted, a temporary home is not as palatable as the idea of a permanent one, which is why I did not alter anything at the property on Passerine Place. It was not my home in a literal sense, but in the realm of my imagination and desires, and for a brief time, from the moment of the first open house showing until escrow closed on the property, it really was my home.

“Do you watch HGTV, Your Honor?”

The judge nodded. The prosecutor tapped his pen on a legal pad.

“Then you are aware of their programming and know the appeal of taking a home and making it yours. As with many of the channel’s viewers, I am a fan of the married couples that renovate older houses and update the interiors. I’m also a fan of those disarmingly handsome twin brothers who do the same around the country. And I also like that show where couples look for a place to live all around the world, based on their budgets and criteria. Anyway, I digress. As I took temporary residence in the home, I could have done that, but as has been established I did not want to touch or alter the property on Passerine Place. All the alterations were done in my imagination and in my heart. ‘This is how I’d paint the kitchen,’ ‘I would do this with the fireplace,’ ‘I would decorate the third bedroom this way, as a guest room or office,’ and so on. You know, in another life, I could have a career where I would be paid enough to afford a house such as that one. As most Americans, I share the dream of home ownership because nothing is more satisfying as the sound of the door closing behind you as you enter the comforting bosom of a place you have established as your sacred shelter. Home. And as most Americans, I watch HGTV and take comfort in vicariously living through others who have the means to make those lovely renovations to their homes and hire those married couples or those handsome twin brothers.

“So, if I am guilty of any crime, it is not trespassing. It was the temporary caretaking of the property, because houses deserve to be lived in, and if I could entertain my delusions briefly each week in this manner, then who was I harming? No one. Once the home was sold and escrow had closed, that was when I let the home go both physically and, more importantly, emotionally. I acknowledge that 322 Passerine Place is now the property of another. It was never mine to begin with. But in brief moments I was able to pretend that it was. If that is considered insane, then I am insane. But it is not a crime.

“That’s all. Counselor, and Your Honor, I move to have my case dismissed. If I am guilty of anything in this case, it is of having watched too much HGTV and taking advantage of a friend’s position as a realtor to lick at the proverbial brass ring. And now, I throw myself at the mercy of the court.”

“Mr. Moreno, do you move to have the case dismissed or throw yourself at the mercy of the court?” the judge asked and pointed the handle end of the gavel at me. “Because you cannot do both. It is either one or the other.”

“Okay,” I said. “I move to dismiss. Failing that, I will throw myself at the mercy of the court.”

Trespassing is a crime, regardless of whether or not the home was vacant or abandoned, and regardless of any fantasies the trespasser will harbor of doing renovations to their heart’s content.

The judge sympathized with my plight after the verdict was read. It took a moment to mentally tune back in after the word “guilty” was said. But I quickly got my bearings and heard the punishment: two years probation, 100 hours of community service. Thankfully it was my first and only offense, thus the leniency. I really dodged a bullet. The prosecution was going for jail time, and I would have lost my job and my apartment if that were the case.

Luckily, Elaine was not affected by my actions. She knows now to cover her hands when she punches in the codes to the lock boxes at other listings she handles. She didn’t speak to me for a few days. Once her anger subsided she laughed and understood my situation.

“I don’t blame you,” she said as we had a drink at a pub near my apartment. “Kris and I are thinking of buying a place soon. And if I had the money I would have placed a bid on the Passerine house. It really is a lovely home.”

The house sold to a young couple from the Boone neighborhood. They put in an offer slightly below the asking price, and Elaine said they moved in the weekend before my trial started. So it was still unoccupied when I was arrested. I just wonder who in the neighborhood identified me to the police.

So in the foreseeable future my Saturdays are booked to satisfy my community service requirements. I’m now cleaning up parks, freeway overpasses, sidewalks, and garbage in other parts of town. Sadly, I am nowhere near the Fillmore neighborhood. The bulk of the community service has been mostly over in the lower west area of town. I heard it was a dump, but it has some nice older homes, so the neighborhood really does have potential. Maybe one day I’ll afford the down payment on a house there. Maybe in another life.