Here\u27s what I tell myself: I\u27m a mime and this town is the invisible box that I only pretend to be stuck in. Its boundaries are wherever I press the flat of my hand. Look, I\u27m trapped! Look, now I trace a window with my burglar gloves and peek through. Now I lift the window, climb through, and escape. Now I\u27m juggling. Now I\u27m dancing. Now the invisible box disappears. It never existed. Ha ha ha

Parker, Kelcey

Digital Commons @ Butler University

BoothVolume 4 | Issue 7 Article 27-13-2012LimberlostKelcey ParkerFollow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/boothThis Article is brought to you for free and open access by Digital Commons @ Butler University. It has been accepted for inclusion in Booth by anauthorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Butler University. For more information, please contact fgaede@butler.edu.Recommended CitationParker, Kelcey (2012) "Limberlost," Booth: Vol. 4: Iss. 7, Article 2.Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss7/2LimberlostAbstractHere's what I tell myself: I'm a mime and this town is the invisible box that I only pretend to be stuck in. Itsboundaries are wherever I press the flat of my hand. Look, I'm trapped! Look, now I trace a window with myburglar gloves and peek through. Now I lift the window, climb through, and escape. Now I'm juggling. NowI'm dancing. Now the invisible box disappears. It never existed. Ha ha ha.Keywordsimagine, pretend, camp, teach, childcareThis article is available in Booth: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss7/2Booth Journalhttp://booth.butler.edu/[7/17/2012 11:02:35 AM]about archives shop news submitJuly 13, 2012LimberlostFiction by Kelcey ParkerHere’s what I tell myself: I’m a mime and this town is the invisible box that I onlypretend to be stuck in. Its boundaries are wherever I press the flat of my hand. Look,I’m trapped! Look, now I trace a window with my burglar gloves and peek through.Now I lift the window, climb through, and escape. Now I’m juggling. Now I’m dancing.Now the invisible box disappears. It never existed. Ha ha ha.Or: I’m a crow, one of the screeching thousands that perch on the bare tree branchesalong the river like quarter notes on a skewy treble clef, then fly away in melancholychords. Just passing through.These are the things I tell myself when I’m trying to sort it all out–how I got here, whyI stayed. Because the fact is, I’m not even from here. I came from somewhere else,voluntarily. I came for the Ph.D. Lots of people get here that way, to get them or givethem. We say we’re just passing through, but we’re all still here when the birds returnthe next year.The high schools are named after a president, a saint, and a poet. My neighbor, whosesons attended the poet high school, named his dog after the high school. I don’t think heknew that he’d named his dog after a poet. This is something you find funny whenyou’re getting a Ph.D. in the humanities. Until the neighbor’s poet-pet, leashed to a treeeven as the temperature sinks and sinks, barks and barks while you (I) try to write adissertation. And every (woof!) other (woof!) word (woof!) is (woof!) woof. Then you1Parker: LimberlostPublished by Digital Commons @ Butler University, 2012Booth Journalhttp://booth.butler.edu/[7/17/2012 11:02:35 AM]© 2012 Booth, A Journal follow usFacebook | Twitterabout archives news shop submit← older(I) realize it was never funny to begin with.I didn’t get the Ph.D. I got pregnant.Winters are hard here. Long, cold, snow. He was warm. He had an actual functioningfireplace in his apartment, and merlot by the boxful. No dog woofing outside. Books allover his shelves, his kitchen table, his nightstand. And records! With sleeves andneedles, A-sides and B-sides. How we talked and read and danced and drank and andand. Oh, the humanities.That was over a decade ago. It’s more like something I read about than something I did.A minor chapter in a long novel.He was gone by the time the baby was ABD: All But Delivered. November arrived andso did my Mia. Spring semester began in the deep of winter, and I became an adjunctteacher in the department of Sure, I Can Teach That. On the first day of class my maingoal was to select a babysitter from among my students, and to woo her. The problemwas that I needed babysitters during class time, so I had to find multiple sitters.Fortunately, my main adjuncting gig was at the all-girls Catholic college, which ispositively loaded with maternal instincts.That’s where I met Becky. She was not the first person you’d select to care for yourinfant daugher, and she was not the first person I selected. I chose Front-Row Rose.French-Braid Rose. Four-Point-0 Rose.Would Rose be willing to watch Mia while I taught my other classes? Oh, totally. Didshe understand all of my instructions about heating the bottle in hot water? Yeah,totally. Did she think Mia was the cutest baby ever? OMG, totally. Did I trust her?Totally.Pages:  1  2  3  42Booth, Vol. 4 [2012], Iss. 7, Art. 2http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss7/2Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 2http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/2/[7/17/2012 11:36:59 AM]about archives shop news submitJuly 13, 2012LimberlostMost of the students at the college, including Rose, are from Elsewhere. From goodfamilies and good pasts that seem to promise even better futures. Becky, on the otherhand, is from here. “From here.” That’s how she said it when we finally spoke. Purple-Nailed Becky. Messenger-bagged Becky. What’s-In-Your-Head Becky.She reminded me of Elnora Comstock from the Limberlost novel, set a hundred yearsago but not too far away from here. It was one of many books from my own youth thatI had arranged on a bookcase to read with Mia. We would read them together and thensomeday we would travel to the actual sites, places like Limberlost and the Laura IngallsWilder home. That someday would be now.Becky reminded me of Poor Elnora, who arrives at school with old clothes and nobooks and thinks, “it was all a mistake; this was no school, but a grand display ofenormous ribbon bows.” Ribbon-Bow Rose. I was projecting of course, but it made mesympathetic to Becky, curious.When I got Becky’s first paper I still hadn’t heard her speak in class. What would shehave to say? It turned out that she had to say exactly what she was told to say in exactlythe way she was told to say it. And yet she revealed nothing at all. This wasComposition. Put these two texts in conversation with one another. Make an argumentabout how they connect, how they diverge. It was brilliant, really, how she was able tosatisfy the assignment, write more than a thousand words, and say nothing.Soon it was time for student conferences. Winter had settled in, the long hard snow of← older3Parker: LimberlostPublished by Digital Commons @ Butler University, 2012Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 2http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/2/[7/17/2012 11:36:59 AM]it. A year earlier I’d lived in a world of music, merlot, and maps for a dissertation. Nowmy life was Mia and Composition. And Reliable Rose, whose conference took place atmy kitchen table over cinnamon tea. Becky arrived at my office late for her firstconference. Mia was nestled in her pumpkin seat at my feet, and each of my studentsooohed and aaahed over her, asked about her age and sleeping habits, and stared at herthrough most of the conference. Except Becky, who hardly acknowledged her at all.I didn’t need to discuss Becky’s paper, which would get an A. So I asked where shewas from, hopeful to piece together some of her mystery.“From here.”It took a moment to register her meaning. Maybe because it was the first I’d heard hervoice. But suddenly something, everything, made sense. “Which high school did you goto,” I asked. “President, saint, or poet?”She didn’t miss a beat of what I thought was my own private joke. “President.”“Jefferson,” I said. The worst of the schools. Yet somehow she’d learned to writeperfectly meaningless A papers and get herself into this college.I imagined the rest of the Limberlost details of her life: spurned by her own mother,unable to afford better clothes, eager for an education. This made me reach out to her,talk to her over coffee in the Student Union (where I learned details worse thanLimberlost), and root for her. But it did not make me ask her to babysit.Until the afternoon Rose had to cancel. Rose was a new member of the StudentGovernment committee and they were hosting a campus event, a comedienne (and Ionly recall this now because the image of that woman on the poster with the date andtime remains in my mind like the last bits of baby food that you can never quite scrapefrom the inside of the jar). Rose had to be at the event. She told me after our classtogether, and by that time Becky was the only other person in the room. My optionswere limited: I could either cancel class—a dicey proposition for someone whosecontract expired at the end of every semester—or ask Becky to fill in. I liked Becky; Itrusted Rose.I looked at Becky. She looked at the floor.Pages:  1  2 3  44Booth, Vol. 4 [2012], Iss. 7, Art. 2http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss7/2Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 3http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/3/[7/17/2012 1:33:11 PM]about archives shop news submitJuly 13, 2012LimberlostWe could both feel the request in the air, and the fact that I wasn’t asking it wasembarrassing us both. Oh, for God’s sake, I told myself. It’s just a fill-in. It’s just onetime. Everything will be fine. So I gave her my most assured smile and said, “So, doyou want to make some extra money next week?”Becky arrived at my door wearing her usual oversized black sweatshirt and militarymessenger bag. Pins lined the strap that crossed her chest, and I thought of her as adecorated Girl Scout. You see what you want to see.“Let me show you where everything is,” I said, leading her to the table where mypapers were piled up for grading, and where Mia was mounted on her bouncer seat likea Thanksgiving turkey. I started to say something about Mia’s favorite toys, but Beckywas looking at the wall. “What are these?” she asked.On my walls were framed antique maps of far away places that no longer exist. Placeswith new names and new borders, places I tried to write about in my dissertation.“Those are Plan A,” I said. “Funny, huh? I came here to become an expert in thoseplaces.” I unbuckled Mia and picked her up. “And this is Plan B, Plan Baby.” I liftedher to my shoulder and pressed my lips to her ear. “Aren’t you, Mia? Plan Baby Mia.” Ikissed her a hundred times, breathed in her baby scent. God, I hope I did that.“Are you going to finish?” Becky asked. “Your degree?”← older5Parker: LimberlostPublished by Digital Commons @ Butler University, 2012Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 3http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/3/[7/17/2012 1:33:11 PM]I consulted Mia. “Are we going to finish? We don’t know, do we?”“You should finish and leave,” Becky said. “Or just leave. Get out of dodge.”I rocked Mia, patting her back. Becky had told me bits about her home life, herbrother’s meth problem, her parents’ fights about it.Then she said, as if the idea had just come to her, or as if she wanted it to look thatway: “And you could take me with you.”“What’s that?”She spoke in a sudden rush. “You could leave and take me with you. I could help withMia. You could finish your degree.”Her tone was pleading, and her request was too intimate, of course, totally inappropriateand certainly disproportionate to our relationship, but it stirred me because it wassomething I’d wanted to hear. I gazed at the maps on my walls. It was what I hadwanted Mia’s father to say to me.But my sleep-deprived mind was on more practical matters: the semester, the cost ofdiapers, the class I was about to teach.“Right now I do have to leave,” I said, “for class. I’m going to put Mia down for hernap. You ought to have an easy time; she should sleep until I get back. Won’t you, Mia-Moo? Say hi to Becky.” I held up Mia’s arm and waved it.“Hi, Mia. Bye, Mia,” Becky said, a bit dejected, as I carried Mia to the room we shared.It’s too easy to think it wouldn’t have happened if Rose had been there. But I do, I can’thelp myself. When I returned home after my classes, Becky – Blameless Becky, It’s-Not-Your-Fault-But-I-Blame-You-Anyway Becky – was on the couch watching TV.Mia had been dead for at least an hour.My Mia. Sweet Mia. Sudden-Infant-Death Mia.Pages:  1  2  3 4← older6Booth, Vol. 4 [2012], Iss. 7, Art. 2http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss7/2Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 4http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/4/[7/17/2012 1:34:11 PM]about archives shop news submitJuly 13, 2012LimberlostLimberlost was named Loblolly Marsh until the night Limber Jim got lost and nevercame back. Limberlost is a real place, an enormous swamp preserved by the state. I’venever been there, but I have memories of it from reading the book as a kid. Mia wouldbe ten now, and we would be reading it together and planning those trips now. In mymind, though, we’ve already gone a thousand times. My memories are of a place I’venever been and events that never happened. My mind is its own Limberlost – aswampland full of moths, dragonflies, and Indian relics. A place to search for treasure,to get lost, to drown.I saw Becky the other day. What else could make me go on like this now?Grocery-basketed Becky. Highlighted-hair Becky. Baby-Bjorn Becky. I instinctively hidmy face and tried to hide from the moment. Was it her? Unmistakably. Would I revealmyself? Make her see me? Make her see me see her baby? Even if I wanted that, Iwasn’t sure I could do it. The grocery aisle became a swampland beneath my feet. Imight sink into the ground, and would she notice? Would she stop it from happening?I hadn’t seen her since that day. Someone took over my classes for the rest of thesemester, and Becky disappeared. Maybe she found a way out of this town. Maybe shereturns every year to see her patchwork family. Or maybe she only came now becauseof the baby. Her baby.“What’s her name?” I said. I don’t recall making the decision to reveal myself, but Iwas suddenly standing beside her, sinking really, as she surveyed rows of pasta sauce.← older7Parker: LimberlostPublished by Digital Commons @ Butler University, 2012Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 4http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/4/[7/17/2012 1:34:11 PM]The baby strapped to her had a pink hat.“Hmm?” Becky looked distracted but prepared to tolerate a stranger’s pleasantries. Iremember so clearly. How the faces of strangers were never kinder than when Mia waswith me.But when Becky turned to me, her distracted expression transformed to something else,something as apt and empty as her Compositions once were, as cryptic as the buttons onher messenger bag. I’m sure my own expression changed upon seeing her so close,these ten years’ hence, the scent of a newborn between us.Winter was once again settling into its deep chill. “Home for the holidays?” I said.“Yes.” She covered the baby’s pink hat with her left hand. “I live out east. Bostonarea.”Not only did she have new hair, tasteful makeup, a new town, a baby—she had awedding ring, a big one. Some do make it out of this town, apparently. Some do gettheir happy ending. Who would have thought it would be Becky? But at the end of theLimberlost novel, even Elnora Comstock marries the man she loves and finally gets hermother’s love, her happy ending.“You look well,” I said.She winced, as if her bounty hurt her more than it hurt me.“You’re still here,” she said in a low voice. It came out a question, one that I feltcompelled to answer. But neither of us wanted to hear about how I couldn’t leave Mia,and how, even if I’d wanted to, I had nowhere to go.Forget all those things I told myself about mimes and crows. Here’s what I finallyknew: I’m a ghost. A woman who wandered into this swamp of a town, got lost, andnever made it out.So like a ghost, I disappeared from the store, leaving my half-filled cart in the aisle,leaving Becky there with her baby and her ring and her life.But first I looked into Becky’s eyes and found an answer I could give her.What I told her was this: “I’m from here now.”8Booth, Vol. 4 [2012], Iss. 7, Art. 2http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol4/iss7/2Limberlost | Booth Journal | Page 4http://booth.butler.edu/2012/07/13/winesburg-indiana-limberlost/4/[7/17/2012 1:34:11 PM]© 2012 Booth, A Journal follow usFacebook | TwitterelsewhereBooth | Butler MFAabout archives news shop submitKelcey Parker is the author of For Sale By Owner (Kore Press), winner of the 2011 Next Generation Indie BookAward in Short Fiction, and the forthcoming book, Liliane’s Balcony, set at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwaterhouse. She directs the creative writing program at Indiana University South Bend, which is just a couple hoursfrom Limberlost Swamp, setting of Gene Porter Stratton’s novel, The Girl from Limberlost.Pages:  1  2  3  4← older9Parker: LimberlostPublished by Digital Commons @ Butler University, 2012

Limberlost

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