The 29-Year-Old Catholic Monk from County Meath, Ireland.
As told to Jet Jameson
Sex Diaries - March 16th, 2023
Day One
5 A.M. I am awake. I have been since about 4, so. At this time, I am out in the stables, with Daisy and Lysander. They’re meant to mate this spring, but Lys has seen feistier days. I wonder when he’ll keel over. I give them a routine brushing and a clean of their hooves. Brother Mick will be taking them to the children’s service later today, to teach them about Noah’s Ark, yes, but mostly to let the littles get a pet.
I see Brother Colman across the field, working with the sheep. The fat one’s being a problem again, trying to run his growing horns against the fence. The worm-rotted wood will fall one day, when the young ram’s got full horns, but for now, it’s just a practice in stubbornness. Colman walks over, with a thermos of tea, he offers me a sip, I politely decline, though I could use the caffeine. I wander inside.
8 A.M. Early morning mass. Mona Dougherty has brought her granddaughter, Aisling. Aisling is in her twenties, like. She’s beautiful. She’s living down in Dublin now, studying at Trinity. Following service, I tell her to mind out for my niece, Catherine, who started there as a freshman in the fall. She politely promises to do so. Mona had a fall this winter, and has a brace around her wrist. Haven’t spoken to my sister in a while. I think I'll give her a call.
12 P.M. Afternoon mass. Much more popular. We have our full brigade of acolytes and choir. Much less for me to do, so I’m able to take a proper communion and confession.
3 P.M. Dish duty. Since it was a beautiful day, the luncheon was quite crowded. We had a group of American exchange students come to mass today. They’re studying at St.Patrick’s for the semester. Rowdy bunch. They call it “Eye-Er-Lind.” Sweet though, during a conversation, one of the schoolgirls gave me a book to read. It’s called “Heart Stopper: Volume 1.”
8 P.M. Youth committee came in for their meeting. Tonight they are discussing premarital sex in the modern age. Good topic. Usually, I’m eager to volunteer, but felt quite spent from the day. Decided to lie down early. Evening prayers and devotions. Still need to call my sister.
11 P.M. Still awake. Tormented tonight with memory. I go to the library and start to work on my reading for next week. I think I’ll use Leviticus 19:34, “The foreigners residing among you must be treated as native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.”
Day Two
6 A.M. Brother Kenneth has the horses today. He heard me toss and turn from his room across the hall, and generously volunteered to allow me to rest. I stay up though, watching the sun creep into my window. I think about a play I read before I dedicated myself to the Lord: Agnes of God. Strange play. Interesting. About a Nun who goes loony and commits infanticide. I must call my sister.
9 A.M. Silent hour. I eat a bowl of porridge and go for a walk around the grounds. I stop by the
funeral plot. I pause in front of Rory’s grave. A baby sister I never knew. I should go down to the store and grab some flowers for her, and Mum.
1 P.M. Go into town, take the bus. Bad traffic today, lots of tractors heading in the opposite direction. I grab flowers, and a card at the Boots. Stop at the chippy. I see Seamus O'Corbain. Says he’s moving to America next month. Think he’s been saying that for a year or so now. Best of luck to him. Going to be a New Yorker, he swears.
5 P.M. I write a letter to my sister instead. Wishing the best. In the envelope, I tuck a small flask of Holy Water. I put it in the postal box, before taking the bus back to the priory. While on the bus, I work more on the reading.
10 P.M. I’m thinking of the play again. I did a scene from it when I was in university. I played the Priest. I also played a scene from Angels in America: Part One, where I played a gay Mormon named Joe Pitt. Another actor in the play had a gay sex scene set in a park. I feel desire as I think of this, and do another round of prayers and devotions before setting off to bed.
Day Three
3 A.M. Still awake. Thinking of when I joined the monastery. I was high on MDMA, at my Mum’s house. I was a third year in university, and she had just died. This was just after Frances and I’s last big row. High out of my wits, I climbed up the big slope on Cock Hill Road. All the way from the Central Kimmselssan’s parking lot up to the priory’s gates. I fell asleep on their drive, and in the morning, Father Lane was leaning over me, with a glass of wine and a cup of water. “Which one would you prefer?” He asked, earnestly. That was ten years ago now.
12 P.M. I read the Heart Stopper book. I see now they were having a laugh at me. Regardless of the homosexual content, it is a sweet story. It follows two English schoolboys who fall in love. They defend one another as they face criticism from peers, and help one another discover the intricacies of young romance and sexuality. I think about my first crush on Kevin McCarter in 6th class. He was the first one our age to develop muscles. He had the most precious spray of freckles. I wonder where he is now. I quiet the thought.
6 P.M. Confession. I mention the queer thoughts. For penance, I’m to say 20 Hail Marys and to sacrifice my reading at mass that Sunday. I think of how Charlie stands up to Ben, when he tries to shame him for their gay behavior. (Heartstopper) Charlie was very brave, he let his heart take courage. (Psalm 27:14)
Day Four
10 A.M. Wednesday. Woke up late. I feel a darkness in my heart.
3 P.M. I prepare tea and finger sandwiches for study. Maeve doesn’t like mayo, and Claire can’t stand cucumber. I make them special. This act of service lightens me, but my reading still plays on my mind. I was so proud of my central metaphor.
5 P.M. Maeve skips this week, her little boy’s sick with the flu. I eat her mayo-less sandwich. I decided to share my passage from Leviticus. I find the message is more important than my penance. I will recite more Hail Marys in exchange, though I feel very little guilt. Ginnie O’Hare mentions her son watching Heartstopper, on Netflix. She feels uneasy that her son was watching an intimate scene between two boys. I speak before thinking, “We were all made in God’s image, so what’s so wrong with loving your fellow man?” Claire looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. I didn’t know Heartstopper was a TV show.
8 P.M. I was a Theatre major, with a minor in Creative Writing in university. My mother loved that I was “her little artist.” Frances was studying Psychology, which she liked to use against me. I started abusing drugs when I met Ricardo. He was an Italian exchange student, though he didn’t go to class much. Mostly we hung about in my flat, and went dancing. Amongst other things.
Day Five
12 A.M. Still awake. I wonder where Ricardo is now. I wonder how Catherine, my niece, is doing. I didn’t do my prayers and devotions. I will make up for it tomorrow. Craving chips.
2 P.M. Slept through morning mass. We’re meant to go on a walk down to St.Pat’s to teach the boys Sex Ed. I pretend sick. No interest in preaching abstinence to deaf ears. Besides, I’d like to avoid the Americans. I read some more of Heartstopper. Quick read. I shut my eyes for a nap, and think of Ricardo. I can no longer separate the memories of him, and my mother’s death. This makes my stomach hurt. I am no longer faking sick.
9 P.M. Goodnight to the brothers. My mind is at ease now. I fear I know what I must do.
Day Six
2 A.M. I entered the Brotherhood with a snap decision, I chose the water, over wine. Father Lane coaxed me inside with the promise of a wool blanket, and a cup of broth. I asked my sister to sell my mother’s house, and when I didn’t show to classes that semester, the university sent me my letter of dismissal. And I stayed here at the Silverstream Priory. No one asked after me, or asked if this is what I had wanted. My mother had always known about me, but never asked, and I suppose, at nineteen, I hoped that if I never acted on my desires, she might come back. Like being a good Catholic would bring her back up from the ground. Her and my dead baby sister, returning in the night to rap at my window, and we could live together in our old house that smelled like my Father’s cigarette smoke, and beer breath.
I go to the charity box and pull out an old jumper and pair of jeans. They fit fine. I also take a 100 Euros from the donation box. When I pass the cross, I bless myself and apologize. I hope the Lord will forgive. I leave my robes on my bed, made for the last time. I slide Heartstopper and my copy of the RSVCE Bible into my grocery tote, and leave my room, heading for the stables.
I give a thorough brush to Daisy and Lys, and wish them the best. I pray to the Lord to give them a spring foal. Lys blinks, and I know he knows. We were both Stallions when we met, and now we're old men. I kiss him between the eyes, and run my fingers through his coarse, black mane once more, before turning away.
The ram bleats. He shouldn’t be awake at this hour. If I were more poetic, I’d lie and say, he was banging his nubby horns against the wood fence, and that with a final whack, it’d collapsed, allowing me to walk through. But I’ve done enough lying these past days, and am not poetic. He was just mowing the grass, chewing his crossed teeth.
6 A.M. Hannah Blake still works at the bus depot. I buy a ticket for a noon ride out of town.
11 A.M. Chippy opens, and I grab an order to go. I realize I should’ve said goodbye to Mum and Rory’s headstones before I left. I send them my love from the bottom of the hill.
4 P.M. A rocky bus ride, and a scenic route on the Drogheda/Dundalk service down to the Connoly station. I used to have a crap studio in Docklands, now it's all high rise condominiums. The chippy fish isn’t sitting right in my stomach. I walk a bit, then cross the river.
Mulligans is still here. According to their Yelp review, they have “A cast of regulars, and a lack of modern pomposity.” I only know because a Londoner mentioned this to me as he sat next to me. He asked me if I were a regular. I told him I used to be. I told him Dublin’s changed a lot since I’ve lived here. He says the same of London. We resign to silence. I order a pint. I apologize to the Lord before taking a sip. Tastes like shite. Drink it all down.
11 P.M I’m on Trinity’s campus. I didn’t go here, I went to NCI. But I used to come down here to lay in the grass on a bright day. Like I am now. It’s wet and cold, the grass almost blue in the cloak of night. My Mum was thrilled when Fran got in, cause she could visit the library. She’d always wanted to go, but didn’t want to be a tourist. No, she wanted to make sure she was admitted to the library because her child was a student there. She didn’t get there before she died. From Cate’s last letter, I knew she was still on campus, but I couldn’t manage which dorm she lived in. I trudge to a payphone, a little plastered from the pint. My brow wrinkles, as I derive her number from the recesses of my mind.
In about twenty minutes, we’re sat on a park bench together. I’d thought she’d find it strange, sitting here with her estranged monk-uncle, but nineteen year old’s have a way of shrugging off oddities. She insists we go down to a pub and get a spot to eat.
We go to a place called “The Ginger Man,” she asks if I’m still sworn to poverty. I offer the 50 Euro note I've left, and we order toasties and a round of Harps. After some time “Ode to My Family,” by The Cranberries plays over the stereo. Cate hides a twisted grin.
“Don’t you love this song?”
I tell her, I did, when I was in Junior Cycle. How did she know?
“Mum talks about it all the time, plays it every Christmas morning.”
We sing together.
Does anyone care? Does anyone care? Does anyone care?
Doo doo doo…
Frances pulls up thirty or so minutes later. Cate did exactly what I secretly prayed she would. She comes into the bar, keys in hand, wearing just a nightie, day robe and a pair of rain boots. She takes a long glance at me.
“Well, I wish this weren’t a surprise.”
She rubs my back and takes a seat next to me, snagging a chip of my plate. We talk like nothing for awhile. She orders a coffee, with a splash of Whiskey, just like Dad used to take it. In a lull, she kisses the top of my head.
“Did you say goodbye to Mum?”
I tell her the truth.
“I left flowers with her and Rory a few days ago, but forgot to say goodbye. I said goodbye to the horses instead.”
“That’s fine, Mum would’ve wanted you to leave anyhow. Her little artist.”
Cate leaves now, kissing her Mum goodbye. She has an exam in the morning. I thank her for the company. She shrugs like a nineteen year old. Not aware of her own importance.
Day Seven
11 A.M. It’s Saturday, so Frances has no patients today. I wake up late, to hear her scolding her terrier, Scott, for begging. We drink tea in her sitting room and talk awhile. First about nothing, but eventually, about everything.
12 A.M. Fran and I went to a Farmer’s market down the road, where she introduced me to Terrance, “the GAY baker who makes the BEST sourdough.” I wish she wouldn’t’ve stressed the former. We stop by a bookshop, and I buy a book. Once home, I write a note to Father Lane, thanking him for his mentorship and guidance through this past decade. In the envelope I slip a 100 Euros, which Frances took from our Mother’s trust, to replace what I stole. At the end of the letter, I leave a P.S.
“I’m having a proper full-on gay crisis.”
Heartstopper, Volume 2 by Alice Oseman
