Secret Stories

by Dwight Peters

more, there was always a joy overtaking all else, ending the flickering and bringing a darkness that was peaceful to walk in.

  The last time the person went on one of these walks, while the person’s body flickered with light, another was met and talked to and immediately there was love discovered. At the same time, this other, who was initially attracted by the shine of the light, thinking it was something of value, was robbing the person. The other shot the person through the head. It took three minutes for the person to die, and during this time, for the first time, the person chose another.

  She Is A Painter

  There is a woman who becomes a shadow, without a physical body. The shadow doesn’t move. But then, watching closely, you can see movement. Arms slowly lifting; you can recognize her in her movements.

  A week goes by, a month, a few months: you watch. It begins to rain. The rain comes down in colors. During that time, she lifts her arms as if to do something, but it is unclear what she is trying to do. More months pass, and still it is a mystery what she wants. It is still raining.

  As the rains stop and the moisture settles, there are pools of color all around. She walks over to a pool of color; somehow reaching through all limitation, dipping her hand in. Her hand and up to the middle of her forearm become real, covered in skin. She dips again but other parts of her, first this part, then another, until she is fully real. She dances through all the pools and laughs and sings, smiling back at your smile.

  She pauses for another few months; her gaze holds you though the whole of the time. There is movement again, and she walks to a white wall. She lifts her arms again as before. This time, with her fingertips real, she is able to do as she wants. This time—skin touches, creating color. She is painting with her new self. There is no paint other than what is her real body. She can create and paint any color. With one motion of her hand and brush of her finger, there is one color painted; with another, there is a different color painted. She has become all that is the possibility of color.

  Peak-a-boohoo

  Love lies around every coroner.

  Love lies around every corner.

  Love lives around every coroner.

  Love lives around every corner.

  In An Open Bedroom

  Late each night, the city’s transit trains all rest together on the same track-lined yard. Tens of dozens are cuddled tightly. None sleep until after pillow-talk of the most moving, scandalous, and bizarre stories of the riders they carried.

  Bees At Bear’s Knees, Bear At Bees’ Knees

  Grizzly bears are the wildest of animals so can’t be trained. But I bumped into one, thinking my life was over by the mouth and claws of this massive bear, only to find out that this particular grizzly bear was to train me. I had gone into the wilderness to get to know nature better and never got the chance because nature wanted to get to know me—and it was a big talking bear with big ideas.

  What happened was this. The bear convinced me to bring it back to the city where I live. And then the bear even put me to work. I pretended to be able to be in control of the bear, and people would pay to sit on a seat strapped to the bear’s lower back while the bear walked around the city or to someplace the people wanted to go. I would tell the people they had the option of a bear cab ride or a bear tour ride; they often chose the tour. On these rides I sat in front acting like I could steer in different directions by touching the bear’s neck. Every once and a while, to seem more like I was in charge, and because the bear told me to, I fed it chocolate and sardines, its favorite foods. People would pay huge amounts of money to be taken around the city like this. It was all the bear’s idea, and I was working for the bear.

  At the end of each day the bear would spend all the money on other animals, which at first I thought the bear being a grizzly bear would eat, but it didn’t. It spent the money to rescue, ship (if from far away), on everything necessary to take care of them, renting out warehouses, buying food and toys, paying for all the medical bills, creating from scratch new healthy homes for those lost, sick and often sad animals. I wasn’t sure why I let the bear train me, but perhaps it was because I was still trying to know nature and this seemed like a way to do that. I was very surprised by all of the things the bear did. But my surprise was in a good way, so made me feel like I was in the right place doing the right thing.

  You might think the animals were many dogs and cats—and there were lots, very many lots of lots from near and far—but there were also many other animals from all over—and somehow all of them could talk. Altogether in the warehouse, there were many critters of all kinds stirring around: kitties, doggies, some monkeys, a camel, a little baby hippo, three orangutans, seventeen woodpeckers pecking at stuff, four porcupines acting cute and fuzzy with their pokey points, eight octopuses with their eight legs each living together in an eight thousand gallon aquarium, a kangaroo—or two, yes…two— a dolphin couple swimming in the air and in the aquarium through the sixty-four legs, a few mice, a big goofy gator that giggled who lived in a pond we made, a tadpole, an eagle that couldn’t fly but pretended to fly round and round the warehouse, a pony with its friend horse and friend donkey, a frog and its buddy bull, a mostly hairless person (me), and of course the great big grizzly bear. Oh!—and there were the bees, always hanging out around the bear’s knees. The bear didn’t eat an especially large amount of honey, often none at all, but the bees were always there as if the bear were made of honey—though never bothered anyone who was riding on the bear around the city. The bear would tease the bees and say, “you are at my knees but I’m at your bees’ knees too.” The bear also had a pretend pet, a potato named Tator. The bear told me it was a “talking Tator” making voices and having it tell “tall tales from the mouth of a short Tator.” I laughed a lot. I think the bear somehow changed the potato every week or so as to not have it sprout and rot—but somehow they always looked like the same one.

  For special customers that were trusted enough to hear the bear talk, we would sometimes, for birthdays, go to the warehouse and all the animals would sing a very happy birthday song. Once when this happened we all stayed there for fifteen days and talked and ate cake.

  After a few years, we met someone who the bear said needed a job. I let the person take over so left, going back out near where I first found the bear. I realized then that I didn’t really know nature, but I didn’t feel I needed to in the way that I had thought. I felt part of nature and that was enough even if I couldn’t know anything else. I visit the bear and the animals sometimes. Now there are five warehouses and a big outdoor area for everyone.

  The Light Of Love Through Space And Time

 

  When the person died what was this person split into three—a humid mist, a cold wind, and a soft but powerful light that shined from the place of death all the way through what is known of space to places in space unknown. At the time of the death, the lover of this person first felt the cold wind, then the humid mist—but only later knew of the light. The person, before dying, knowing of the inevitable consequences of sickness, pushed the lover to make good friends and discover new love. Yet even after the death the lover struggled to connect with others.

  Some years later, as the lover walked past a tree near a swamp with a humid mist rising from it, on a day where there was also a cold wind, the lover looked into the branches where light wrapped around, wrapped through, seeing not the person loved but love itself, allowing for a strength of being that created an openness not known before.

  An Honest Discovery Presents Itself

  An old man discovers a journal he had written in as young man and thinks for quite a long time about one particular part of his past that he had forgotten about.

  “When in certain situations with another person, if you act helpless and ignorant, as if the person isn’t afflicted with the same condition, doing this without pride, often, then, the other person will be something close to the self the person is when in private—or a self the person wants to be—or
sometimes a self the is the sad truth of circumstance, or other honest selves, opening up to the non-threat of you—revealing—making claims and expressions with confidence because they won’t be pushed against. If you can shrink yourself to see the size of another, when your passive encounter is over don’t continue to feel small, but also don’t be full of arrogance at your trick. Don’t feel angry at the other person for misjudging you either—because it is your presentation of yourself that is the cause of any blame.”

  The old man thinks about if he ever was able to present himself fully and honestly, if he was present in at least most of his presentations of himself. He also thinks about what it means to be passive in the way that he had been, sizing up instead of interacting honestly.

  The Secret Of The Sad Dog

  There was the worry of an ulcer, or another source of pain caused by something worse. Medical tests were done: blood, images; giving at first no explainable cause.

  A more advanced technology of imagining test was ordered. There was shock at the discovery. The doctor came in and gave the information, a clear diagnosis of pain. A very tiny dog was living right below the stomach in the