Holy Ground - Ford Beckman

Tulsa, Oklahoma (my hometown) is always showing up in the strangest places. Whenever I read an article set there I summon up the city so literally; it’s an experience unlike any other type of reading/remembering that I know. Like, I think I imagine a specific spot on Peoria, or maybe by the river—something like trees and houses from the window of my car, or browned out winter grass and the curve of a highway entrance ramp, or just that muted color palette that northeastern Oklahoma wears most of the year: grey-blue empty sky and grey-yellow grass set off by the grey-grey of concrete strip malls, endless parking lots, and crumbling streets. I love Tulsa, don’t get me wrong. But is it right to assume that the people I’m reading about would recognize the city I’m imagining? I certainly feel closer to them because of this assumed connection, whether or not it’s fantasy. I wonder when and if I will feel this way about New York.