Driving my 2013 blue Subaru Outback down a gravel road with fields on both sides, I smelled freshly cut grass wafting through the open windows. I sank into the rhythm of the road, each bump and turn comforting in its familiarity. My phone played a new song — an almost magical tune that seemed to draw me into its world. It was a song I had not heard before, but somehow, it felt like I had known it forever.
I commenced summer 2023 cutting my hair off into a bob. It was a symbolic gesture to celebrate surviving my junior year of high school, commemorating the passing of time and, in a way, my sister’s graduation from Florence High School (Al.). She was about to leave the cages of high school halls, bound for the sprawling beauty of Berry College (Ga.). Berry was a place that felt both like a dream and an admirable reality — a beautiful rolling ground of education away from my hometown that was seemingly unreachable but close enough to touch.
As the wind whipped through my hair, I thought of how much had changed in just a few years, but how some things, like this road and the fields beside it, had remained the same. The speakers played loudly, and the lyrics to “Bros” (2015) by Wolf Alice caught my attention. Lead singer Ellie Rowsell belts, “Remember when we cut our hair? / We both looked like boys, but we didn't care.” A sharp nostalgia hit me as I recalled the day when my sister, at six years old, without a second thought, took a pair of scissors to her long locks, chopping them off in a wild act of rebellion. She cut mine too.
I remember proudly and fearfully showing our mom my sister’s new pixie and my new micro bangs. How strange, I thought, to be so suddenly thrown back in time and to hear a song that so vividly mirrored those memories.
The music swelled, and I soon realized I had found something special. It was not just a sound, though the soft but punchy guitar chords and evocative rhythm spoke to something deep inside me — but the lyrics and how they captured the sense of connection, shared history and loyalty that I always felt with my sister.
“Stick it out together, like we always do / Oh, there's no one, there's no one quite like you,” Rowsell sings.
The lyrics were simple but expressed a truth I couldn’t ignore. It was a promise — no matter what, we would stick together. We were each other’s constants in an ever-changing world.
I thought about my sister as the song continued to play. I admired her more than she would ever know. She had a fire, a raw passion for everything she loved and wore it like a badge of honor. I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be as unapologetically myself. I wanted her confidence, ability to speak her mind and unwavering determination. Her hair, long and straight like golden rays of sunshine, was the only thing about her that seldom changed — a symbol of her steady, unshakeable presence in my life.
I drive through this spot when aimlessly wandering on Tate Slough Road when I’m home. It’s a part of my routine now, as much a part of me as the air I breathe. The road, trees and horses grazing lazily in the fields all hold a certain magic or nostalgia, a reminder of a time before all the changes and uncertainty. When my sister joins me, we spend the drive with the windows down, laughing and screaming along to the lyrics of what now feels like our anthem. In these moments, everything falls into place. We belt out, “I’m quite sure / Me and you”
As I drive, singing with my sister beside me, I know that no matter where we go or how much time passes, we’ll always be this way — inseparable, chasing the wind, living in the present and dreaming together. That’s what it means to be sisters, to be family. And nothing, not even time, can change that.
To my sister, thank you for being my forever friend. It’s me and you — I’m quite sure.
Martha Caroline (MC) Powell (she/her) (28C) is an Emory student aspiring to major in something important, but she hasn’t quite figured it out. She’s hoping it comes to her in a dream. Until then, she keeps herself busy with Ben Pius Mock Trial, SAPA, and The Emory Wheel. Any free time is spent reading, pining over Michelle Zauner, journaling and trying her best to be gluten free.
