Long Live the Days of Julia
by McKenna Seiger
McKenna Seiger, is a junior at the University of the Incarnate Word. They will graduate in May 2025 with a degree in Fashion Management with a concentration in Apparel Product Design and a minor in Creative Writing.
I loved the way she said my name, the way the corners of her mouth curled up at the side, how my name sounded warm and rich from her lips. I would stare at her mouth whenever she spoke, and daydream of what it must feel like to lay on the curve of her upper lip. I loved it when she’d lean forward across the library table when she talked, like every phrase was a secret she only shared with me. Sometimes I would make her laugh while we studied together. I loved the way she would tilt her head back, allowing you to see all of her teeth without embarrassment. I loved that she was never embarrassed. Sometimes I would get shy at how we must’ve looked to the girls we went to school with— if we looked more than friendly. Sometimes, I caught myself hoping that we did. I’d catch her looking at me over the stack of textbooks between us, she’d push her glasses up the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand and smile out of the corner of her mouth. I wanted to crawl out of my skin, to fly away and never let her stare at me again with that smile. But then again, I wanted to know what about looking at me made her smile like that. I wished I could make her smile like that forever. I wished I knew what it was, so I could do it always, see it always. Sometimes in bed, I would wonder what it would be like if she kissed me - and after the thought lingered and passed, I would cry and pray for forgiveness. It was a cycle— the thought, the prayer, the avoidance of the thought. Then, I’d see her in the hallway the next morning, and she’d stop, lean her back against her locker and wait for me to catch up to her. And suddenly the cycle would begin again, and in the light of day there was no time for a prayer. Even in a sea of plaid skirts, she stood out. Like our uniforms were somehow only made with her in mind. She looked so effortless, almost perfect. I liked how she made everything look accidental, the way she wore her hair, the unevenness of her uniform socks. The walk to her always felt slow, like I was engraving her image into the depths of my brain with each step. I don’t know if I subconsciously did it in a way where I can sometimes still see it when I think long enough.
Once, I had invited her to church with me— just to feel close to her. I hadn’t listened to the service at all, as the closeness to her felt suffocating. I was too aware of myself; the way I sat, the way our elbows grazed when I would lean forward in the plush auditorium seating. On the drive home I felt over the moon, thinking of the way she squinted when she was focused. She cried over the phone that night, her voice rasped with hurt. She told me she didn’t know if God would ever be able to love someone like her. I wondered if God felt that way about me. I don’t think I really cared. Three weeks later, she got a boyfriend - over lunch she had whispered to me that they had made out in the backseat of his mom’s Subaru. I giggled at her awkwardness of storytelling, the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes. He wasn’t deserving of her, I had thought. He didn’t see her in the ways that I, her best friend, did. She said she didn’t think she would ever love him; I wondered if she thought about ever loving me instead.
Maybe if I had known truly, I could’ve told her how perfect I found her. Perhaps nonchalantly, on the phone at night while doing homework. Maybe she would’ve smiled that smile. I saw her walking down the street the summer after our freshman year of college - she pretended I hadn’t been there, but I saw her eyes move right through me, beyond me, as if I had never really existed to her at all.
