ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)
Bio
~ American feminist living in Sweden ~ SHE/HER
Admin. Vocal Social Society
Find me: @andreapolla63.bsky.social
Achievements (1)
Stories (197)
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Belisten
Stop talking, she had said to me while swirling anxiously in circles on her black, leather computer chair. It was covered with a faux fur blanket which she had received as a gift one Christmas; it was something familiar and safe. Her vulnerability was obvious; her all too familiar ways were especially reflective in her warm, brown, almond shaped eyes which barely met mine. She skirted around our conversation. What do you want me to say? I didn't respond with words, yet my mother heart was on high alert, absorbing each syllable as she mumbled, noting her agitated movements, listening with a racing pulse to her words while my unbridled flashbacks of her childhood giggles stabbed through my well-trodden heart. You never listen! I am listening; I feel I am poised, attentive and my dear, cherished, only child how I wish you could feel the love I have for you, a love which will never die. Mom! I sit more attentively. What the hell am I doing wrong here? My eyes are right on her, my mouth is shut, my body language is relaxed, (or is it?) and I am here, ready for whatever she has to say. Nervous, yes. Ill prepared for parenting a struggling adult entirely? Maybe. What can I do but take in her words, let them tumble around as if in the clothes dryer until they settle. Help me out here someone! I am lost as a Mom. Lost. Oh God. She stops swirling about and looks at me as if I can't possibly relate. I hate my life. What do you hate about your life? I try to verbalize my reply, to sound like a friend, a bit casual yet I resent my repressed tone. I am not loved for who I am; I am transgender, and Pappa walked out of my life! Are you daft Mom? You of all people should know how much it hurts to be alive, to be me, to not be wanted! I clear my throat, stand, and wrap my arms around her. I don't speak. I hold her face in my hands and look into her eyes with pure love. My pain is hers. I take her hands and lift them into the air with mine. For one moment we are one; I am familiar with listening to her emotions as they burst from her soul. I hear her sorrow, her plight, and in all my imperfections, I remain steady. Without quivering I select some words but stumble and don't say them. I am thinking, "always as far as time can take us, I am with you." Mom! What have I done now? Can we talk about something else? I let go of her, sit down, and pretend to look at a menu for Thai take-away laying on the coffee table. A few minutes slowly tick by; I look up as she wipes away a tear. I love you, Mom. Handing her the menu she quickly tosses it back. I want pizza; I hate Thai food. You of all people should know that. I do know this. I know so much about my beautiful, hurting loved one, yet I also know nothing at all. Can my love save her? I order pizza. I ask what she wants and she rolls her eyes and turns her back toward me. She has asked for the same pizza for twenty years. I order one large pizza with cheese. Just cheese. She swirls around to face me and blurts out, With olives! Surprised, I add them to the order. I don't know as much as I want about her. Olives? She never eats olives. I am sobbing inside wanting to soak up all her self loathing, stitch her wounds; I'd give anything to see her laugh or smile again. I want her to be happy. Mom? You're just staring at me like a zombie. Can you go now? Of course. I have filled her needs for this particular wave of melancholy. I stand again and kiss her cheek. Leaving her is always hard. Leaving her alone with all of her thoughts stings as I push through a smile. Talk tomorrow? I ask. I am twenty-six, not six Mom. Emphasizing the twenty she sighs and stands. She gives me a hug of reassurance, an unspoken contract that she won't harm herself. Enjoy your pizza. Opening her door for me she ushers me out. Thanks and goodbye, Mom.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
I Smell a Rat
According to wisdom passed from the four elements to the keeper's of all things wondrous, Earth was once in liqued form. Unbeknownst to the Heaven's above an eruption of sorts was taking place and the Earth's water began to emit a rather stenchy, grotesque bile like odor. Suddenly, a repugnancy permeated the entire universe and all that existed in the depths of time. In the heavens, clusters had begun to form in fragments of matter, smaller than a grain of the finest sand. All was silent yet the beginnings of life were developing slowly; the first sign of the senses had been coalescing. There was no sound, no sight, no smell, nor heat or cold before. What the most expansive of all imaginations did not comprehend was the first of all senses had been initiated, thus striking the Universe with this unfiltered fetor.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
Slut Farts
Twenty years ago my weary eyed best friend disembarked from her first flight to Sweden to visit me. Exhausted and waiting for her connecting flight she looked about for her favorite pick me up, diet coke. After finding a vending machine, she pushed the button for her anticipated beverage and a bright, red, light appeared across the top of the vending machine and read, "SLUT". Being a woman of impeccable standards she was immediately offended. How did the machine know so much about our pasts,?
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Humor
The Villagers
Setting: A rural village located on Sweden's west coast experiences unsettling changes as two USA emigrants buy a farmhouse from 1759 and begin to renovate. Simultaneously, summer houses begin to be sold to more folks from the big city of Gothenburg and have begun to be occupied with young people who know nothing about living in the countryside. Surrounded by dense forests, a pristine lake and well trodden paths, the villagers are a clash of generations and cultural misinterpretations which often lead to promiscuous activities and hilarious interactions.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Humor
Kahlo's Passion; The Art of Pain
Decades apart, lands away, your determination met my grimaced smile with a tear so heavy I felt it bruise my shoulder. The agony of chronic pain held us separate from the world, buried alive in a place only those with eyes of amber can understand. Your skin so warm, mine so pale lift our brushes in rebellion. Entangled hearts yearn like a lost lover to be found.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Art
The Gatekeeper's Wife
When the door was opened love ushered us in, our eyes met and locked once again. We left outside the weight of real life, immediate resurrection of man and wife. Again we remeet, embrace and feel the Gatekeeper's steadfast grace of steel. Were we once a humble pair splitting wood in this frosty air? Could I have worn the apron with all the little pockets and worn our love upon my breast in a silver locket? Could you have lit the lamps around these grounds, secured the doors, making dutiful rounds? Was I here boiling coffee on the woodstove, mending your clothes, warming your supper with my lips painted rose? Did we sit at this table and you ask for my hand, give me a kiss and a wedding band? Were we the lovers who lied in this bed, content with simplicity and the life we led? Whether we traveled from then to now you are still my Gatekeeper forever somehow. You've taken my love, my heart, my fears, you've kept me safe and dried my tears. The fire will burn on for eternity, you're always my Gatekeeper and hold the key. Each time we visit this calm, dreamy place, the door to our love is reopened unyielding with grace.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Poets
One Last Laugh
Pushing their bicycles up the rocky path was a time for laughs and hunger after a day spent swimming and exploring by the North Sea’s inlet to their small village on Sweden's west coast. Storms never frightened these boys; they knew when it was time to head for shelter. This jaunt would take a life changing twist. As they felt the pelleting rain upon their backs the sky split open, winds whipped upon them fiercely, their vulnerabilities exposed.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
One Last Storm
Pushing their bicycles up the rocky path was a time for laughs and hunger after a day spent swimming and exploring by the North Sea’s inlet to their small village on Sweden's west coast. Storms never frightened these boys; they knew when it was time to head for shelter. This jaunt would take a life changing twist. As they felt the pelleting rain upon their backs the sky split open, winds whipped upon them fiercely, their vulnerabilities exposed.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)3 years ago in Fiction
