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Oliver is sitting at his desk and watching his computer's screensaver. Normally, he would be out and about with his friends right now. It's not the weather that's keeping him at home. It's not raining, but it's not sunny either. Today, he just doesn't feel like it. Oliver has been sitting there like this for almost two hours now, gazing out of the window and at his screen, lost in thought.
Today at school, he was really annoyed by one of Bülent's stupid comments. Oliver has been playing handball in the sports club for a long time. Bülent, on the other hand, plays in the football team of the same club. During the big break, he simply announced loudly in front of the entire student body that handball is for girls and real men play football.
Oliver was furious straight away and it would have taken just one more word in this vein and Bülent would have had one of his own. Oliver had to make a real effort to keep himself under control.
Why did this saying annoy him so much? Bülent has always been known for his macho sayings. Oliver has never really taken him and his talk seriously. Except today. That's when he made him boil. Did his Italian genes, which he got from his father, come into play?
Oh yes, his father. He never got to know him, as he left for his native Italy immediately after his birth. Since then, he only hears or reads from him at birthdays or Christmas. He never missed him. He has always been able to talk to his mother about everything. She always has an open ear for him and sometimes even one or two useful pieces of advice.
However, there is something that is now causing him concern, but he somehow can't discuss it with his mother. What is bothering him is too intimate to discuss with a woman. This has been going on for quite a while, at least since he decided to start shaving regularly about a year ago. He has found that his beard and sideburns have become a bit too silly for him. It was then that he realised for the first time that there are some things he can't discuss with his mother – or doesn't want to.
Anyway, he just got some blades and shaving foam and practised. In the meantime, a few hairs have appeared on his chest. He just shaves those away too.
Recently, however, he noticed Giovanni in the shower after handball training. Giovanni was born in Italy and only came to Germany with his parents and sister a few years ago. For the first time, he noticed that he has quite a lot of hair on his stomach and chest. And that, even though Giovanni is barely half a year older than Oliver. Giovanni must also shave his face more often. Oliver seems to have inherited his mother's genes in this respect: He probably won't be able to grow a full beard for a long time yet. Oliver also has much lighter hair than Giovanni and it's not as thick either. Giovanni has a blue-black mat on his head.
While Oliver was still looking at it thoughtfully – always careful not to attract too much attention – Sven came out of the shower into the changing room and posed in front of the mirror, examining his muscles.
Giovanni just spoke to him in his funny German: ‘Hey, what are you looking at? Nice muscles, but not even hair on your chest.’
Sven laughed briefly and just replied laconically: ‘Don't worry. Nothing grows on steel.’ He pounded his chest with his fists.
Giovanni just looked stupid. The others started laughing.
Oliver likes Sven. He is almost always in a good mood and he always has a cool saying ready for every stupid remark. And Sven has muscles, short blonde hair and steel-blue eyes. He is the eye-catcher.
That day in the changing room, Oliver noticed something. Giovanni didn't just change his clothes. No, Giovanni showed Oliver his hairy body, his hairy legs and his slightly darker skin. Oliver was not left cold by this.
Sven didn't just show off his muscles either. Sven also made him want to touch those muscles, to stroke his belly and...
It was only Sven's clearly slightly amused look into Oliver's body that recently made him realise that the sight of his two naked sports companions had aroused him. He quickly put his trousers on and just smiled mischievously.
Oliver reflects. Photos of boys and young men with bare chests, in swimming trunks or tight jeans and open shirts flit across his computer screen.
Before that day in the changing room, he had not realised what a naked boy's body triggers in him, what desire suddenly takes hold of him. Yes, all at once he feels a great desire not only to look at his friends, but also to touch them. What would he give to be allowed to kiss Giovanni, his full, dark red lips? Or to simply take the light-skinned Sven in his arms and hold him close?
As much as he longs for the touch of his two friends, as much as he wishes to feel their warmth, to touch them, to let them caress him, to kiss with them – he is just as afraid of rejection. Even though homosexuality is not rejected in principle in his club, it is repeatedly the subject of ridicule. He does not know any gay people in his club. What if his own desires become known among his comrades? What if they think he is gay?
He has to think of something. The sight of his naked friends in the shower turns him on. And nobody must notice it. How should he do that? How should he prevent himself from getting a hard-on? What would they think of him otherwise? How would they react?
Should he even dare to shower with the others at all?
He likes playing handball. This team sport is his whole world. The hugs after every goal scored, the pats on the back when a throw misses the target. So far, everything has been sporty and friendly. Now Oliver feels more when he just thinks about it.
He is currently thinking about the pros and cons of not going to handball for the time being when he hears the front door: his mother is coming home.
Manuela calls out a cheerful ‘Good evening! Anyone at home?’ into the apartment and closes the door.
Oliver answers: ‘Hello. I'm already here.’ With a mouse movement, he quickly stops the slide show on his screen.
His mother opens the door, sticks her head into the room and says: ‘Hello darling, I'll go and make dinner.’
He nods at her and smiles. ‘Darling’ is almost as bad as ‘Olli’.
‘Oliver, can you give me a hand? Dinner's almost ready,’ he hears her call for him after a while.
He shuffles into the kitchen and sets the table. His mother comes in with the bowls.
‘How was your day?’
‘Okay.’
‘And at school, everything okay?’
‘Yep.’
‘And? Was everything good?’
‘Yep.’
‘For God's sake, can't you ever talk in complete sentences?’
"Yep.’
‘Oh Olli... uh... Oliver, look, I'm just worried. You hardly say anything anymore, we don't talk at all, you always seem so absent-minded, and I have no idea what's going on in your head! Do I have to worry about something?’
‘No, it's nothing, it's nothing at all, okay? I've been a little tired and tense lately from school, it's not getting any easier, all this studying!‘
’Wasn't there also handball training today?‘
’No, it's not until tomorrow, but I'm not going then."
She looks at him in astonishment: ’Why not? Is something wrong?’
‘Nooo! We're doing maths soon. I still have to study for that."
Manuela sighs. She realises that he doesn't want to talk and gives up. She is tired and exhausted too; the day was stressful. If he doesn't want to talk now, she won't make him.
Oliver helps her clear the table. She tidies up the kitchen, then lies down on the sofa with a book and is asleep a few minutes later.
He gets another glass of lemonade from the kitchen, sees her lying there, and a slight, wistful feeling takes hold of him. In the past, when he was little, he would always snuggle up to her for a few more minutes, they would talk quietly about the day, then she would send him to the bathroom, read to him as well, even though he could already read himself, but it was always so nice and cosy.
He shrugs his shoulders and goes to his room.
Once there, he lets the computer boot up again. He wants to surf a bit more. One topic keeps coming back to him: is he gay? Is it a phase? How do you actually know that you're gay if you've never been with a boy except for looking and dreaming?
When can you be sure if you are gay or just going through a phase? Oliver is now 17 years old. He celebrated his birthday with his friends that evening. Friday night was just asking for it. The next day, when he got up, he asked his mother not to call him Olli anymore. After all, he is very mature now.
She simply replied, ‘OK, Olli,’ and gave him a knowing smile.
He doesn't really like calling her ‘Mutti’ either. It's kind of childish. But how? By her first name? Manu? Ela? Or even Manuela? Kevin does that with his parents. It's kind of weird, so different, so unusual.
Kevin has been his best friend at school since year seven. They even sat next to each other until the last summer holidays. Now Kevin sits next to Sabrina. The way they keep looking at each other, they must be a couple now. During the long breaks, the two are always invisible. She is no longer with her girls and Kevin is no longer with Oliver and his clique.
Oliver broods. What bothers him about it? He is actually happy for Kevin that he has fallen in love. Nevertheless, he has a strange feeling between sadness and anger. Jacqueline, who is now sitting next to him at school, says that it is clearly jealousy.
Jealousy? Of whom is he jealous? What would he change if he had the chance? One thing is clear: he misses Kevin. His friend Kevin. His smile. His funny sayings. The things they always did together. His eyes. He would love to be in Sabrina's shoes.
If Kevin were in his handball team, he wouldn't even think about not going anymore. He's always felt comfortable around Kevin.
On Oliver's screen, the images of boys from his screensaver are already scurrying again. It has become quite late by now. Actually, he is tired, but still doesn't want to go to bed. So he sits motionless at his desk and watches the naked and half-naked bodies in front of his eyes.
Suddenly, he hears a noise behind him at his room door. He quickly reaches for his mouse, which he can't find right away, and ends this particular slideshow. When he finally moves and furtively glances at the door, he only sees it slowly closing from the outside.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit, he thinks, did she see what my screensaver is? Oh God. I have to pay attention and close my door. Or better yet: set an innocuous screensaver.
Tired, he turns off the computer and gets ready for bed.
The next morning, he gets up faster than usual, tries not to make any unnecessary noise, and makes his way to school. He lets his mother sleep; she is probably on late duty today, otherwise she would be awake by now.
Later that morning, she looks at herself in the mirror with amusement and then shakes her head. What strange thoughts must have flashed through her mind!
Okay, when she came back from the toilet last night, she noticed that Oliver's door was only ajar. She just wanted to admonish him to finally go to bed, since he had to go to school. She quietly opened the door further and saw all the pictures of naked young men on his computer screen, and she was shocked. Oliver didn't seem to notice anything, so she quietly retreated and went to bed, totally confused.
Well, this morning the world looks different again. Smiling, she brushes her hair and applies a subtle make-up. She should hurry, work is calling, Oliver is already gone.
The boy must be in love, she thinks to herself. And it's only natural to make comparisons, isn't it? She doesn't know, and now she has one of those rare moments when she misses Oliver's father; she could have asked him. Should she email him?
Oh well, better not. They have managed well without him all these years... although... she lets her hand with the brush drop... they have managed well all these years, but has Oliver too?
Of course, she never had the feeling that he missed a father who left for Italy right after Oliver's birth because he was so homesick for his country. So he said! Anyway, since then he has been paying regularly, otherwise he stays out of their lives, as agreed.
Oliver, who knows the whole story, once said that he didn't need a guy like that.
But now she wishes there was a father who could have a... a... yes, should she call it a man-to-man talk? ... with the son.
She looks at the clock in alarm: she has to go, and right now!
On the bus, she reflects a little more: her boy has been an uncomplicated child, her Olli! Yikes, don't think Olli! On his 17th birthday, just half a year ago, he urgently asked her to call him Oliver from now on, and she promised. In return, he wanted to call her Manu instead of Mutti. Good friends call each other that too. Well, she can be glad that he didn't insist on her full first name, Manuela.
They were able to talk about everything. It's just not always easy for a single mother with a job to raise a child, keep the household in order and not lose herself.
His adolescence was actually quite easy too. Well, there were a few arguments, but that's normal.
But lately... what is going on with him? He seems so introverted, sometimes he is really dismissive towards her. It can't be because of school, okay, he's not an overachiever, but he's doing quite well, and the fact that he doesn't yet know what he wants to do after graduating... that will work itself out.
But she will think more about it tonight; for now, it's time to work.
When he arrives in the classroom, Oliver drops onto his chair and rests his head on his forearms. He only casually registers how his classmates come in, greet him and take their seats. So he hardly notices Jacqueline sitting down next to him.
‘Morning Oliver,’ she says as usual.
‘Hello Jäckie,’ he mumbles without looking up.
‘What's the matter with you?‘
’Huh? – Oh, nothing, I just slept badly.’
Jacqueline has long since noticed that something is wrong with Oliver. No matter how often she has asked him lately, she has not been able to get anything out of him. She actually likes him. He is so different from the other boys, though she can't quite put her finger on it. She has decided to grill him on the matter. He always reacts dismissively to her questions. She has a plan.
Then the history teacher enters. All conversations stop. After a welcome speech, he returns the corrected exams. For Oliver, it's all a blur. He's too absorbed in his own thoughts. Finally, the exam is thrown next to him.
The teacher addresses him: ‘Oliver, what were you thinking? You can do better than that. What's been going on with you lately?’
Oliver just looks at his teacher with disinterest. He has heard the sentences, but their meaning has not reached his brain.
The teacher moves on. Oliver opens the last page with displeasure and holds his breath.
Oh crap, a four in history! And that even though I studied so hard for it and actually know the material. I'm messing up my grade right now.
He struggles to follow the lesson for the entire period. When the bell rings, he packs his things into his rucksack and leaves the room for the courtyard. He doesn't even notice Jacqueline bumping into him.
When he arrives in the courtyard, Oliver rummages through his backpack. He actually doesn't have his English homework with him. Instead, he finds a light blue envelope with Jacqueline's name written on it. He recognises this handwriting too well; he has copied from it often enough since they have been sitting together. He had actually intended to ask her for the English homework so that he could copy it.
Why is she writing him a letter now? What does she want from him? She's usually not tongue-tied and always says what she wants and thinks outright. A letter from Jacqueline.
‘Will you go out with me?’ It probably won't be that, he thinks and smiles briefly.
He goes to a corner of the schoolyard and carefully tears open the envelope. Then he pulls out a postcard. On one side there is a colourful flower printed on it and a short text: ‘And there came a day when the risk of remaining in the bud became more painful than the risk of blossoming.’ - Anaïs Nin -
What is this supposed to mean?
He carefully turns over the card. There is only one sentence in Jacqueline's neat handwriting: If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me. J.
The backpack slips out of his hand. He lets it slide onto the gravel of the courtyard. Then he reads that one sentence again and the quote on the other side.
The risk of blossoming crosses his mind. Does she mean that I don't blossom, or that I should blossom? What does risk mean here? What does it matter to her anyway? ... Does she suspect something? What does she suspect and I'm not even sure?
At the beginning of the school year, Oliver was disappointed when his friend Kevin simply sat down at Sabrina's table and made no move to sit down with him again. Oliver still hoped that it would only be short-lived. Kevin never talked to him about it. How can it be that his new flame Sabrina is obviously so bewitching him that he simply forgets his best friend.
Sabrina doesn't seem to have spoken to Jacqueline either, who sat in Kevin's usual place before the holidays. Oliver was very disappointed in Kevin.
Now Jacqueline has sat next to him. It could have been worse for him. In any case, she has never been unappealing to him.
However, she started making a pass at him immediately after the holidays. In class, she sat too close to him, he felt. He slid further away with his chair. The next day, she sat so close to him again that he slid away again. After a few days, she probably realised.
She was obviously not only seeking his company in class. Since Kevin stopped standing with him and the other boys during breaks, she often appeared suddenly next to him and forced conversations on him.
Oliver liked her and still likes her. It was just the way she approached him and sometimes even put her arms around his shoulders that somehow made him feel uncomfortable.
On the other hand, they were able to talk to each other about all sorts of things. Jacqueline is no fool. It's just that she obviously felt more for him than he did for her. Oliver liked her as a friend. She probably imagined more.
Once, during a break, she hugged him again, pressed her hip against his side and tried to kiss him. He just tensed up and pulled away from her. Unfortunately, she didn't let up and tried a second kiss. This was too much for Oliver. He felt only anger and fear at the same time, released himself from her grip and just walked away. She called something after him that he didn't understand. He didn't come to class for the next hour so he wouldn't have to sit next to her.
Over the following days and weeks, they ignored each other or only exchanged the barest of words. Oliver no longer dared to look her in the eye. Jacqueline was certainly a little offended. He was annoyed with himself. But what should he have done?
At some point she approached him again and spoke to him. However, she did not touch him again. She certainly did not kiss him. So they became something like friends.
Oliver is standing in the corner of the schoolyard holding the envelope and postcard. He stares into the distance. Bud. Risk. Bloom.
From the side, he sees Bülent and Giovanni coming towards him. Well, it looks like two have found each other.
Bülent calls out to him as he arrives: ‘Well, Olli. Are you going to the girls’ gym again today?‘
’Oh, just shut up and leave me alone,’ he replies testily.
Giovanni holds Bülent back when the latter makes a move to go up to Oliver and give him a smack.
‘Ruisch, Bülli, ruisch. You know how he reacts,’ Giovanni tries to calm him down. ‘Olli, aren't you playing handball later?’
"Nah, Gio, I'm not coming today.’
‘What's up? Heartache?‘ Bülent interjects again.
’Oh, just leave me alone. I don't feel like it."
Oliver turns away, grabs his backpack and walks to the bike racks. After unlocking his bike, he leaves school. He doesn't feel like English either.
He rides aimlessly through the city for quite a while. He doesn't want to go home yet. He wants to think. So he decides to go to his favourite place at the small bathing lake. He should be undisturbed there at this time of day.
Oliver heads for the small sunbathing area and rides to the water's edge. There he lays his bike on the grass and puts his backpack next to it. Then he sits down in the grass and looks out over the water's surface. A pair of ducks comes flying, cackling, and lands on the lake. The two birds swim around each other for a while and then disappear into the bushes on the opposite shore.
Bud. Risk. Bloom.
Oliver takes the postcard out of his backpack and stares at it.
Jacqueline offers to talk to me. But what should I talk to her about? I can't possibly tell her why I can't kiss her, why I don't feel the same way about her that she probably feels about me. Why can't I kiss her, really? She's nice. You can talk to her, laugh with her, but also be serious with her. She's already told me so much about herself. And me?
What can I tell her about me? That I like her but can't kiss her? That I can just about hug her but can't hold her close? That I don't love her because she doesn't turn me on?
Maybe I'll also tell her that I get a hard-on when I watch the guys shower and that I'd love to tickle Giovanni through his chest hair. No, I can't possibly do that. What should she think of me then? Should she think I'm gay?
Am I gay? I've never had sex with a boy. But I haven't had sex with a girl either. It's the same for others. He has somehow never really believed their boasts about the oh-so-hot sex with girls. When can you say that you're gay?
OK, he dreams of kissing a boy. He dreams of having sex with a boy. When he masturbates in his room, his thoughts revolve around one boy or another. He likes to imagine what it would be like if it wasn't his hand that was working his erection, but that of Sven or Giovanni or Kevin, that traitor.
What is that Kevin smooching with Sabrina for, leaving me hanging like this?
Oliver wipes a few tears from his eyes. How he would love to be sitting here with Kevin right now, just chatting. Maybe he would even tell him how he feels. Would Kevin understand? They have always got along so well. Would he still want him as a friend?
Oliver lies on his back and folds his arms under his head. He looks up at the blue sky and watches the birds and clouds pass by.
And then came the day when the risk of remaining in the bud became more painful than the risk of blossoming.
Why did Jacqueline send him such a card? Why did she think it would hurt him, that he can't get out of his skin, that he has no one to talk to? Why doesn't he talk to... yes, to whom? To his mother? He loves her very much. She is more than a mother to him. He also sees her as a friend. As long as he can remember, they have both mastered their life together. They are a team. He knows that she loves him no less.
Will she still love me just as much when she finds out about this? Will she understand? This changes everything!
He is currently destroying all the hopes she has placed in him. He wants to do right by her. But how is that possible? Will she understand what he himself does not understand, what probably no one understands?
He sits up, kneels down and hides his head between his arms and thighs. He remains motionless for a few minutes. He is alone. He cries.
A cool wind rises, the leaves rustle. Summer is slowly but surely coming to an end.
Oliver lifts his head and looks up at the sky. It is getting cooler, but it will probably stay dry. He doesn't want to go home yet.
He reaches for the postcard again. If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me. J.
He feels somehow trapped. Trapped in his thoughts. He sits in his thoughts like in a bud. So far it has been very comfortable here. Here he feels safe. If he wants to be left alone, he just needs to close the bud leaves. He has done that far too often lately.
So far, that's been okay. But now he doesn't know what to do. He no longer feels comfortable in the security of his bud. What is he actually afraid of? What could happen to him if he came out and bloomed? Just bloom, as he wants to! What's the big deal? What's stopping him from blooming?
I want to talk to Jäckie. She will understand me. Otherwise she would never have given me this postcard.
Oliver looks at his watch. School is out, so it's time for him to go home too. He's hungry. Just as he puts the postcard in his backpack, a rhythmic humming sound can be heard. His mobile phone vibrates. Who could that be? He fishes it out of his side pocket and looks at the display: Jacqueline! Oh no. He doesn't want to talk to her right now and puts the device back.
He waits until the vibration stops. Then he shoulders his backpack, grabs his bike and sets off for home.
When he arrives home, he puts the history exam on the dining room table. His mother will ask him about it when she gets home anyway. Then he goes to his room, closes the door and sits down at his desk. He leaves the computer switched off.
His mobile phone beeps in his rucksack. He takes it out and reads the text message from Jacqueline: ‘Olli, you weren't in English and Biology. What's up? Please get in touch. J.’
Tomorrow. It can wait until tomorrow.
Manuela has done it, she really has done it! She grins to herself. The new colleague from the other department has invited her to an Italian restaurant for Saturday evening, and she has accepted! Yes!
She has liked him since he sat down with her in the cafeteria on his first day and they started chatting. He is divorced, took advantage of the situation to look for a new job, and got one at the institute where she works as an MTA.
And now they want to go out for a meal and have a nice evening. Would it go further? Of course there have been one or two men in her life, but they were little affairs, meant nothing but a change and sex. She never wanted anything permanent, no one was going to intrude on her little family and possibly play the substitute father, that was out of the question for her.
But now? Soon Oliver would have his A-levels, soon he would know what he wanted to do professionally, soon he would leave.
The normal course in the mother-son world.
And then?