I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while. This
weekend, I stopped by my favorite city to tell it hi, briefly, which is the
only time I see it now.
Oklahoma City is my favorite place in the world.
In this post, I’m going to tell you why. I’m probably going
to cry, which is all right.
Sometimes tears are good.
--
I took my first newspaper class in high school in 1999, when
I was a freshman.
To say that I struggled in college is an understatement.
College for me was 2003-2008, and in that time, I went to three schools. I don’t
even know how many crappy minimum wage jobs I worked.
I was a punk in college. I knew that journalism was what I
wanted to do, and I didn’t understand why I had to work jobs I didn’t want to
work and why I had to take classes I didn’t want to take to do journalism full-time.
I get it now. I get that you have to work for what you want,
and I understand that you have to go through bad times to get to the good stuff.
Back then, 2003 to 2007 Monica was a punk. College was the
first time that I failed, and I didn’t know how to be a failure. It was completely
new to me, someone who graduated high school with a 3.7 GPA and took honors and
AP classes.
College sucked.
In the summer of 2007, that all changed. I applied for an
internship in the biggest, most badass city
that I’d ever visited, and I got that job.
I moved to Oklahoma City by myself, to start an internship
at the newspaper, The Oklahoman. I got lost trying to find my apartment
complex. Everything I owned fit into the back of my car.
When I finally did find my apartment, and moved my stuff in,
I was too scared to venture outside to a grocery store or a fast-food restaurant
for food. The big city was too intimidating to me.
I stood in my new apartment that night, alone and hungry,
and if I remember right, I cried.
Welcome to the real world, 2007 Monica.
I was terrified.
--
The only thing I remember about that first day is how much
we walked. They took us everywhere, all over the huge building (I worked on the
seventh floor), and they a photo of the interns, all dressed up.
I still have that photo.
--
I remember meeting each intern and asking where they lived
and where they went to school. There were some impressive hometowns: Oklahoma
City, Dallas and Chicago, to name a few.
The schools were even more impressive: The University of
Oklahoma, Texas, Missouri.
And then there’s little me, from a no-name town who went to
a no-name school. Also, did I mention that I went to three schools in five years?
Oklahoma City was the first time that I was surrounded by
people who had the same passion as me. It was the first time that I got paid
for what I loved to do.
It was the first time that I realized that I struggled in college
for a reason, and that this would be the start of the rest of my life.
Oklahoma City was the first time I realized that I could do
what I loved for a living. It was the first time that I realized that I could
have a career, instead of just a mundane job that I hated.
--
I remember a lot of things about that summer. And there’s
probably a few alcohol induced things that I don’t remember, too.
2007 Monica liked to party.
I remember feeling so fancy when we went to the downtown
bars on the Fourth of July. I remember looking up at the stars that night, and
thinking, ‘Damn, this is what happy feels like.’
I remember wearing heels to work. I got my heel caught in the
elevator and tripped in front of everyone I was trying to impress.
Another intern tripped and spilled an entire glass of
whiskey later that night, and I remember no one made fun of me after that.
At least I didn’t waste whiskey when I fell on my face.
Mostly, I remember realizing that all the other interns were
just as scared as I was that entire summer.
When someone bought donuts on the floor above us, my intern
buddy and I talked about going up and getting some for breakfast.
We didn’t. We were too scared to.
Now that I’m nice and old, I can spot an intern a mile away.
I recognize the fear behind their eyes, and I sympathize with that.
I understand that.
I think it’s hilarious.
--
I mostly wrote weather stories that summer. I did cover some
other things, though. I wrote about an execution. A story about local food. But
mostly, just weather.
I remember getting my first (and only) page one. I still
have it, and I need to get a frame for it.
Also, when I die, no one is going to want a newspaper from
2007 with my byline on the front page. Please, whoever oversees my
arrangements, just bury me with it.
Anyway, I remember I had my story in pieces on my computer
screen. Quotes here and there, some notes, sure, but it was not finished and
polished yet.
My editor came up behind me, read my screen, and then asked
me to send him what I had. I wanted time to finish it, but he wanted it
immediately.
I sent it, and then went over to his desk.
I watched as he edited my words. I remember looking at his
fingers, and then at his screen, and then back at his fingers.
I remember thinking, holy shit. This man’s got magic in his
fingers.
That was the first time that I realized that all writing is better
when it’s edited. I used to think I’d make it as a writer when my work didn’t
need an editor.
I was wrong.
Writers always need editors.
--
I associate Oklahoma City with the love that I felt there.
Oklahoma City is like a long-lost friend that you haven’t
seen in a while. That city is like greeting a loved one at the airport and hugging
them so hard you never want to let go.
Oklahoma City was my first love.
--
I remember going to a kickball game that the full-time reporters
played on. Interns were not allowed to be on the team, but we went to watch. (I’m
pretty sure we just wanted to suck up to get a bar invite after.)
I told one of the reporters that the other interns went to
bigger schools than me. I fessed up to her that I was on my third school and
was going to be a ‘super senior’ come graduation time.
Her response: No one cares. Your past doesn’t matter now
that you’re here. The only thing that matters is your future.
--
Oklahoma City was everything that I ever wanted. It was the
biggest city that I’d ever visited or lived in. To 2007 Monica, it was the
fanciest place that I’d ever seen.
I’ve since grown up and have visited some other cool cities.
Namely, New Orleans, Nashville, Denver and Washington D.C.
But there’s something about the feeling that I get when I
pass through OKC.
I went back over the weekend to visit, briefly. After
spending some time in Tulsa, I paid the dumb $5 fee (cash or check only, no debit
or credit, because Oklahoma is Oklahoma) to drive over to OKC, and I stopped at
the Memorial.
I bought an Oklahoman along the way.
I grew up going to Oklahoma City. It’s as much a part of me
as Kansas is a part of me.
When the bombing happened, I clipped out newspaper stories
and kept them. I read them over and over.
I grew up to work around those reporters whose bylines I used
to read when I was little.
I love that city more than I love anything else in my life. That
city gave me confidence, friends, and a sense of belonging that until then, I’d
not felt before.
It also gave me a lot of alcohol and Guitar Hero, too.
I wasn’t myself in college because I didn’t fit in anywhere.
In Oklahoma City, I found myself. I drank rum, played Guitar Hero, found
friends I loved like family and learned that strong people lift each other up,
not tear each other down.
It was an incredible two months.
--
When I lived in OKC that summer, I always went to the Memorial
at night. When the security guard approached me, he told me that nighttime was
his favorite time to be there, too.
I would explain the Memorial, but many of you have probably
already seen it. If you haven’t, you can Google the particulars.
On Sunday morning, I went and spent about an hour there on
my way back to Kansas.
I picked up a wrapper from the water and put it in my
pocket. I touched the water, the gates, and the back of one of the chairs.
I wondered why I was touching everything a few days ago, but
it felt right, so I kept doing it.
Now I know why. My love language is touch. I can’t do much
to heal anyone’s pain, but I can offer a loving touch during my time there.
I looked at the chair that I touched, took note of the name,
and said a little prayer.
Comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity is what the
Memorial offers its visitors. Those words are etched on the gates.
The bombing happened in 1995, when I was nine years old. The
Memorial was finished in 2000 when I was in high school. We went to the site
when I was little, when there was just a chain link fence around it.
Little did I know back then that Oklahoma City would offer
me just what the Memorial promises to visitors: Comfort, strength, peace, hope and
serenity.
Oklahoma City was the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere.
It felt like I was meant to be there, and that I had earned my spot at the
table.
I love you, Oklahoma City.
I always have and I always will.
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