Sunday, August 9, 2015


Confessions of a Novice Nun
by Trisha Quarts

THE SUCCEEDING DAYS HAS PROVED to me one thing: Mr. Bradford is way too persistent when he wants something.

I met him for the third time on Saturday – it was the next week since the last time we 'bumped' into each other outside my workplace – when Mother Elizabeth's congregation and I were touring the city asking for donations around the neighborhood. Dressed in the same style of upperclassman sophistication, Mr. Bradford donated a much too large amount of money to us after greeting me a brief 'hi', smiling the same way when I first met him.

Which brought back the question again: was it coincidence, or planned?

I didn't expect him on that Sunday, but when I went back to my apartment from church, a bouquet of flowers greeted me at my door with a card that says:

"I still expect our dinner-friendship-date."

I didn't give it much thought how he knew where I lived. I simply concluded that it was fairly easy for rich people to gain simple access to trivial information such as my apartment’s address.

On Monday, my question was answered. I became fairly certain that nothing was ever coincidence anymore when Mr. Bradford came by my workplace exactly on time with my arrival. We greeted each other briefly, and because I felt on edge around him, I immediately excused myself from him, telling him that I have work to do. The same friendly smile bid me a goodbye.

And the next day, Tuesday, the thought of telling him my status as a novice nun crossed my mind when I realized that I could not avoid him. And try as I might, he will not easily give up on me unless I honor the dinner-date promise I made with him. Because there sat on my door's foot was a box with an elaborate ribbon. And when I opened it, I was met with the pure white dress from the expensive shop that first time we met. It was neatly folded and covered in an expensive looking paper.

That was when I reached my breaking point.

I told myself, enough is enough.

"Mr. Bradford?" I opened as greeting to him after hearing that his phone has stopped ringing.

"Yes?" he says on the other line.

"Good morning. This is Amy Reed."

"Oh! Miss Reed! You finally called! Did you like my present?"

I tried to calm myself down – it has been such a long time since I got mad that the feeling seemed foreign to me.

"Mr. Bradford, why on Earth did you give me an exaggeratedly priced dress?"

"I thought you liked that dress?"

He sounded unsure.

"Yes, I might have liked it before, but this is too much. You have seen me asking for donations around New York last Saturday, in my quest to help the less fortunate. What do you think did I feel after receiving a dress that costs ten thousand dollars? How do you think I would feel wearing it?"

A few silent moments passed between us before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry. I just thought you might like it… You seemed different around me lately."

Sighing from my annoyance, I softened my voice when I spoke next.

"I'm sorry, too, for getting mad. I was just tired."

I sat at my bed's foot as I heard Mr. Bradford’s quiet laugh.

"Tired? This early in the morning? What are you, an owl?"

His comment finally brought back my smile.

"There was just something on my mind these past few days, and however hard I try, it kept occupying my thoughts. I feel tired because of it."

"That's not because of me, right?"

I shook my head though he couldn’t see me.

"No. It was because of someone else. But I've got to be honest with you Mr. Bradford…"

"Isaac," he cut me off. "Call me Isaac, please."

"Isaac," I conceded. "The things you have told me a few days ago outside the streets – I think that was Tuesday or Wednesday last week – frightened me off. I was a bit aloof around you because of that. I'm sorry."

There was silence again as he digested my revelation.

"So, I guess that's not a good way of meeting someone, isn't it?"

I chortled.


"But you see, Miss Reed, I am that same person you met for the first time. It's still with me. I just…" I heard him huff. Even though I couldn’t see him, I imagined him tugging at his hair in frustration.

After a few more tries with no luck, he seemed to finally give up completing his sentence as he said, "Maybe we could talk in person instead?"

Seeing no other way around it, I agreed with him straightaway.

"Alright. Where shall we meet?"

"Great. Uhm. This may sound like I'm forcing you to go out with me, and I know that you know that I hope that's how it is, but, here goes: there's an event I need to attend to this Sunday evening. It's a charity event. For the upper-class people of society. I will be able to explain to you everything there. Please, don't think I'm trying to trap you into anything. I just genuinely wanted you to see it my way. And maybe you'll understand why I am the way I am – why I do all that it takes to get something that I want."

I thought about it for a few brief moments, weighing my options. Even though something in my gut tells me to avoid him, remembering how he smiled as he helped me the first time that we’ve met, and how I see that same smile was still with him, seemed to weigh more than my fear of him. So with that, I reckon it wouldn’t hurt to give him another chance.

"Well, if it's a charity event, I guess that's alright," was my answer after mulling over the circumstances.

"Thank you Miss Reed."

He sounded relieved from the other line. It made me smile again.

"Call me Amy."

"Amy," he answered right away. "One more thing, Amy."


"I told you that it's for upper-class men, right?"


"Wear that dress."

With that parting line, he hanged up on me as I was once more left in wonder how he could sound so carefree one moment, and then bossy the next.

Did I do the right by agreeing to meet him?

That Sunday, I received another call from Isaac, telling me that he'll send me a stylist for my hair and make-up. I tried to refuse him, telling him it was an unnecessary expenditure, and even asked him if I could return the dress to him. However, he told me that the event requires people to come styled, and also pressed unto me that the dress was mine, and I could do whatever I want with it.

I settled to sell the dress after I used it for the event.

At around four, my stylist finally arrived. He came with a flourish, subtle tendencies of femininity leaking out as he walked into my room, and a voice higher in pitch than that of males. It was apparent that his sexual orientation wasn’t that of a straight male.

I've seen gay people before, have interacted with them a few times myself, but never really spend more than an hour with them. In my religion, gay people weren't truly that accepted. But as I interacted with Chasen, I was made to see things differently.

"Miss Reed, right?"

 "Amy," I nodded before I closed my door and turned to face him.

For a gay man, I didn't expect him to look and act refine. But he does, and was even dressed exactly like a man, wearing a coat and a black pair of shoes.

"What? Your first time to see a gay?"

I blinked twice, caught unawares.

"How did you read my mind?"

"I'm used to that look, Amy. I've received more than a handful of them when I was young. And I still receive them once in a while."

Embarrassed for being one of the people with those look, I turned away from him with my face surely as red as a tomato.

"I'm sorry. I am not used to your gender. I was raised in a convent."

It was then his turn to sound surprised.

"You're a nun?"

"No, no, no, I'm not," I immediately denied, afraid he would ask more and I would have to lie about my true status as a novice nun. But he didn't, and for that I was glad. And instead, he gave me a long response which made a strong impression on me.

"I can see how you would think I am committing a sin for being gay. You were told that way. You grew up thinking there's only men and women. But Amy, I tell you, I've struggled with myself for more than eighteen years.

Imagine yourself caged for forever – could you breathe? I told myself – no, forced myself – over and over to be straight; to like girls. But I never did. And one day, I just thought I can't live like that anymore.

What have I done to deserve it? All the scrutiny, judgements, accusations…

As a kid, I grew up fighting with other kids who tell me I was gay. Why? Because it's the truth. And it was hard to accept it. And they were making fun of the truth like it was a crime.

And so one day, I just snapped. I don't want to hide anymore. I want to live a normal life. I want to get out of my own cage. I want to be loved, and I want to give love in return – not a forced love to a woman, but an unending love. A love where I would give my all.

And so, Amy, I will ask you again. Do you still think I'm committing a sin?"

For a few moments, I was speechless, and was only able to gaze at his deep-blue eyes. Somehow, I understood what he meant.

I could see it in his eyes – his struggles, his fears, his

questions, the unfairness he has received...

And his eyes looked so intelligent, laden with wisdom he acquired from his experiences at such a young age.

And I knew it was right of me not to blindly accept my religion's belief.

This was a good man.

"Everyone commits sins. And everyone is the same in the eyes of God. You are as sinful as the next man I would meet on the streets."

My words earned me an unbalanced smile from him.

"Such a heavy topic for a stranger I just met," he said.

I laughed.

"What can I say? It was a nice way of meeting people."

He stood to walk towards me. Once in front of me, he offered his hand for a hand-shake.

"Hi. I'm Chasen Walls."

I took his outstretched hand.

"Amy. Amy Reed."

(Sorry, the content of this part was removed by the author.)

* * *

Hello! Good day, readers!

Thank you for reading this story titled, "The Confessions of a Novice Nun" The preview of the first part of a pure and damned trilogy, written and created by Trisha Quarts. This novel is originally published online at FanFiction, titled, "The Revelations of An Innocent Mind" and soon to be publish! Sorry, the soft copy of this book is not YET available! ^_*

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