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The Northwood Howler

The Student News Site of Northwood High School

The Northwood Howler

The Student News Site of Northwood High School

The Northwood Howler

Devastated charger sends a tearful goodbye

Isabella Torrales
CRIES ALL AROUND: Charger conveys their utter misery owing to the departure of their one and only true love.


I know I shouldn’t be reaching out to you already… but I couldn’t get the thought of you out of my head. I just can’t believe how easily you could move on. Two years down the drain just like that?

I heard you’re with someone new. Timmy… or Timby or something like that. Didn’t you visit his estate in the hills today? I could’ve sworn I heard his snickering echo all the way down to my humble abode, and all I could do was imagine him with his hand over your shoulder as he takes you up onto his 1000s building balcony. I hear he has a gym with luxurious views of the vast avocado groves out back. Someone told me he even has an elevator. How could I ever hope to compete with that?

It hurts because I still have so much to offer you. He doesn’t have Charger Cards like I do. He doesn’t have Front of the Lunch Line benefits. He’ll hit you with GPAs. With APs. With mandatory P.E. testing (again). And you’re still going to choose him? Are you sure we can’t work things out? I know my late starts only start at 8:35, but I can meet you halfway, I promise! I can’t give you 9:30 like he can but… would you take 8:36?

I guess at the end of the day, I’m writing this because I know you’re going to be moving on in the few weeks that we have left together… I have to accept that. I get it, I do.

Everyone grows apart, you said to me, loud and clear. I still remember it—I think it was this morning. It feels like an eternity has passed. We were walking around the quad, making our rounds as usual, trying to avoid dress code violations. You turned to me and said: “My charge has run out for you.” Rest assured that I’ll be hearing that on repeat in my tragic, haunted dreams… forever.

All I ask of you now is that you leave a small piece of your heart with me. I stood by you through your ups and downs. Your first school dance, where we danced the late afternoon away to the Tardy Sweep playlist. Your first all-nighter, where you cried and cried and cried because you didn’t have enough NHD sources (and we found out that two bottles of Starbucks Frappuccinos weren’t the brightest idea that we had). I was with you through it all, and I’m just really terrified that you’ll start to forget these memories, and in a day not too far off in the future, forget me altogether.

I’ve been hurt so many times before. So many people dump me every year, vowing to never come back to me again (not even a visit!). Vowing to never remember an era of their lives where I played such a pivotal role.

I’m sorry that I can’t be the all-in, supportive guy that you are with right now. The wounds are still fresh and, to be frank, I feel quite empty inside. I just can’t believe that you’re no longer going to be part of my life, when you have been in it for so long.

I just hope he treats you well. And if he ever decides not to, I’ll be sitting on my usual bench; you know exactly where to find me, at 2 Liberty. I’ll always be here for you.

My typical goodbye doesn’t work for you anymore. “Have a great day and charge the way,” doesn’t quite ring true anymore. I guess for my final goodbye, I’ll leave you with this:

“Have a great existence. I’ll love you from a distance.”

See you in another lifetime,

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About the Contributors
Karen Bruce
Karen Bruce, Editor in Chief
Karen Bruce is the Editor-in-Chief of The Howler and spends her every free moment filling out the New York Times games (wordle, then mini crossword, then spelling bee). If you want to win her over: tempt her with a box of macarons, a conversation about Wuthering Heights and an invitation to watch the show that must not be named, Mondays on ABC 8/7c.
Isabella Torrales
Isabella Torrales, Graphic Artist
Isabella Torrales is very likely not real. If Isabella Torrales was real, though, you could catch them drifting idly in a marble pool, looking up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivering as they'd find what a grotesque thing a rose was... although it's far more common to find this artist just listening to sad music, drawing silly things and eating shredded cheese straight from the bag.

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