It was Aug. 7, 2024 at 8:14 p.m., nine days before I boarded my flight to Atlanta to start my life at Emory University. Summer was ending, and the sun was fully set. The sky felt like a cocoon around me.
Just two hours earlier, my friend Mackenzie called me. She was bored, so we decided to get ice cream from Sebastian Joe’s, a family-owned ice cream shop that is integral to Minneapolis. We had never been spur-of-the-moment people and have always made plans at least two weeks in advance, but this day, we opted for impulsivity.
I hopped in the passenger seat of Mackenzie’s dark green Volkswagen and slammed the door. We almost went to the Sebastian Joe’s two minutes from my house, but something told us to go farther. We decided to go to the location in Linden Hills, which was a 20 minute drive away. When we got there, we heard the faint sound of drums playing from around the corner.
We walked further and discovered a small cover band playing right next door. String lights hung above the ragtag band as they performed on a small wooden stage. We had only planned to make a quick stop at Sebastian Joe’s, but we stayed for over two hours. The band played our favorite Beatles songs and a crowd of people clapped and sang along. We left only when the band concluded with an anthemic rendition of “Sweet Caroline” (1969).
We decided to take the long way home, weaving around the “Chain of Lakes,” a series of five lakes connected by trails. Even though it was dark, we still loved being so close to the water. I stared at Mackenzie’s collection of rubber ducks on the dashboard as her playlist streamed through the car speakers. Then, “Love You For a Long Time” (2019) by Maggie Rogers started to play.
Mackenzie told me, “I’m going to play this at my wedding,” breaking our silence. I was too deep in thought and worried about leaving Minnesota to have said much during the car ride. She turned the volume up, and we sang along. She turned toward me and sang, “If devotion is a river / Then I’m floating away.”
After that moment, I started crying. In the song, Rogers repeats, “I’m gonna love you for a long time.” After Mackenzie saw me crying, she told me, “It’s OK.” When the song ended, we played it again.
Partially because of the memory attached to it and partially because of some indescribable pull I felt toward the song, I played “Love You For a Long Time” on repeat while I laid in bed and stared at the tiled ceilings of my dorm room during my first week in Atlanta. Every time I played the song, it reminded me of home.
When I first got to Emory, I was ashamed of being from Minnesota. At a university where everyone seemed to know each other before entering, I viewed being Minnesotan as dead weight, a restraint I could not escape. I would joke with people I had just met, saying how much I hated Minnesota and wanted to leave. The first time I shared my bad thoughts, I felt a pang of guilt, a feeling I quickly pushed down. By the fifth disparaging comment I made about Minnesota, the state started to feel like a distant memory, like an old friend I had not talked to in years.
Every time I play “Love You For a Long Time,” though, I am taken home. Sure, I hate the cold and having to scrape the ice off of my car windshield in negative-degree weather. And sure, I definitely hate Minnesota State Highway 62 and how it always felt like I was about to crash. But those small facts do not define Minnesota to me. Some of my best memories from spring and summer are of driving around aimlessly with my windows down, blasting music and screaming the lyrics with my friends. But when I think of Minnesota, small everyday details also come to mind — the bare tree branches covered in snow every winter, the fluffy pancakes at The Kenwood Restaurant, the after-school trips to Kowalski’s Market for sushi. I often find myself back in that Volkswagen with Mackenzie, just like in the song “I still think about that moment / All of the time.”
Minnesota is inescapable. Even my mom, who moved to Minnesota with my dad in 2000, only planned on staying for a year. But, 25 years later, it’s still their home — she is happy there. And for 18 years, I was happy there too.
“I’m gonna love you for a long time,” Minnesota.
Amelia Bush (she/her) (28C) is majoring in English. She is from Minneapolis, Minnesota, and enjoys walking around their many lakes. Outside of the Wheel, you can find her reading, scrapbooking, or playing tennis.
