Chris and I stopped, we were ready to take a break, and we needed to figure out what our game plan was. "So," Chris says in his thick, Wisconsin accent, looking around, "we can follow the fence line back and just head to camp; we can go back to Ruth, make a loop, and head back to camp; or we can loop around here and head back to camp. We haven't been back here yet, so."

I thought for a second. "We might as well go that way. Try somethin' new."

"It's as good a choice as any," he said, then waves me to take the lead. 

I walked into the aspens and scanned the area, occasionally looking at my feet to ensure I wasn't stepping on anything.

"Psst! Caleb!" Chris whispered frantically after we had walked thirty or so yards into the aspens.

I looked at him and noticed that he was looking through his binoculars. 

He pulled down the binoculars and looked at me, "Caleb, c'm'ere!" he whispered even more frantically. 

Quickly, but as quietly as the crunchy snow let me, I sped walked to him. 

"There's a cow elk right over there, see 'er?"

"I see 'er," I whispered, crouching to the ground and taking aim. The calm that washed over me was incredible, my heart skipped a beat and returned to normal. Breathing stayed steady. I was calm as could be. 

I got her in my sights. She was just standing there, head behind a tree. She wasn't looking at us, she was looking straight ahead. 

"Take your time, and shoot when you're ready."

I pushed the safety in. 

Click!

What the... I thought to myself, double checking my safety. It was still off, I had turned it off. I opened the chamber, ejecting the bullet as Chris said "Eject it."

I pushed the lever back into place. 

Click!

"Dang it!" I half whispered. 

I opened the chamber and nothing ejected. I hit the bottom of the magazine to make sure it was in all the way. I watched as my lever slid over the top of the second bullet "What in the world!!!" I half whispered.

"Stop," Chris whispered as I went to check the magazine again. He stuck his finger into the open chamber and slid the bullet slightly forward. "Try it now."

I closed the chamber and took my aim again.

BANG!

The elk ran, and I followed her with the sight on my rifle. Her butt came into view then vanished behind the aspens.

"Can you get another shot at 'er?" 

"No, she's gone," I said, putting my gun down, unsure what to think. She seemed to be running just fine, but she was just standing there! How could I have missed?

We walked over to the area in which I had shot her. As we passed a dead tree that she was standing near (not the tree her head was hiding behind), I noticed a spot in the tree. That kinda looks like a bullet’s entry point, I thought to myself. I checked the other side of that tree, the top of which had fallen off in years past, and, sure enough, there was the exit wound. She was standing behind this tree, and the bullet went through. How is there no blood on the ground? I thought to myself.

Chris looked around for blood. "I hit the tree," I informed him. 

"You did?"

He walked over to the tree and inspected both sides. "Well, you went through. Let's follow 'er trail and see if we can find something."

We walked a few feet and I pointed to a sprinkling of blood. A smile came across my face, then quickly faded when I realized how little blood there was. 

"It's not lookin' good," he said, confirming my doubts. "We'll keep lookin' though. See what we find."

It quickly became evident, at least to me, that I had shot her leg. I was no expert, but I believed it was her hind leg. The amount of dirt she kicked up in her tracks led me to this conclusion.

After we had walked 50 yards, we reached a large spot of dirt. It was very obvious she had fallen down. We continued our walk, my hope slowly dying as blood became less and farther apart. 

A few hundred yards later, we walked up on her, lying in the snow. I had shot her in the leg, alright. Through the front leg, and right through the heart.

“We will be reading The Scarlet Letter for our book report. It’s a really good book about the weight of sin and guilt on the conscience. I really love this book…”

“Today’s sermon will be a happy sermon. We will be talking about Psalm 32, which is about the weight of guilt on sin in your life. Now you may be wondering, ‘I thought this was going to be a happy sermon.’ Well, it is. It says ‘Blessed is he whose sin is forgiven…’ ”

My pastor preached this sermon the day after I finished reading The Scarlet Letter. And, yes, I do recommend it. It was a great book, I loved it. It was this day that I realized what God was trying to tell me. 

Confess. 

Tell your parents.

Tell Me.

I was scared. I was scared of disappointing my parents. I was scared to face God. I needed help, but I didn’t want to ask for it. 

For the last two years, it has been a constant battle. I needed help stopping, but I didn’t ask. “I can do this on my own. No one needs to know, no one needs to lose any respect or trust for me.”

I repeated that to myself so, so many times in the last two years. I couldn’t do it on my own, and I was too stubborn to ask for help. 

My mental state crashed. 

At fifteen, I began to resent myself. My sixteenth year, my mental state crashed on multiple occasions. I had four or five mental breakdowns in a matter of seven months. I became fearful that I would develop depression. I don’t mean to poke fun at those who have it: it was a genuine fear of mine. 

Fear, doubt, paranoia, anxiety, and self-hatred ate me from the inside out. But no one could tell. 

There are two Caleb Pinnows. There is the Caleb in my head (Caleb II), and the Caleb everyone knows and loves. The second Caleb is never seen without a smile on his face. Caleb is laughing almost constantly. No, he did not ignore you a second ago, he’s just lost in his mind. His head is never where he is, though he can get a job done, and he will do it well. He is constantly thinking about something, but don’t ask what that is: the second you grab his attention, he has already forgotten. He jokes around all the time, and he is always calling his sisters names. But don’t worry, he isn’t being rude. He loves his family, and would never trade them for anyone else: those are just their terms of endearment. Dummy.

Caleb II, however, is not that smiley. He exists when no one is around. He exists when there is no one to pull him back down to earth. Caleb II constantly talks down on himself. Telling himself how bad a person he is. Telling himself how he could have done better on something. Reminding himself of past regrets. Reminding himself about how he will never succeed: how he will never overcome this thing that he has been struggling with since he was thirteen. Caleb II doesn’t like showing his face, so he stays inside, only coming out when there is no one around. The second someone else is present, he is gone and the real Caleb puts a smile on his face. 

I never wore a mask. It’s almost like I have dual-personality disorder (again, not trying not to poke fun at those that actually have it): the second someone else was with me, I was the smiley me that everyone knew. I couldn’t help it. And, honestly, I didn’t care. No one wants to wear a mask. I didn’t have to. My demon hid from everyone but me. Notice the past tense. 

Caleb II did, however, manage to steal some of the joy from Caleb, just not much. I was still happy every time I saw someone else, but there just wasn’t as much joy. 

It has been just under two weeks since I heard that sermon. It has been just over a week since I told my parents.

This was the greatest decision of my life. They were super understanding, and are very supportive. Since I told them, I have had no desire to fall back into what I have been struggling with for so long. I wish I could say “so long” more passionately. 

It has been a long time since I have been this happy. It has been a long time since I have been happy when I am alone. I can finally say without a doubt that I am comfortable in my skin. I can finally say that I am happy with who I am. I can finally be me.

Thirteen was my introduction.

Fourteen was my destruction.

Fifteen was my self-hatred.

Sixteen was my depression.

Seventeen was my confession.

And now I am me once again. It feels so good to say that! I am me! I have overcome! With the help of the Lord and my parents, I have emerged victorious. I am free! 

I was at a mental high today. My day had been great. Ran ten miles with my dad and some friends, came home, and I was ready to go to work. I felt great. I had not been home ten minutes when I received the news. “We’re going to have to put him down.”

I tried to be numb. I picked up my stuff and began walking towards my room. “You don’t have to hide,” Mom said. “Come here,” she said, holding her arms open.

I am sorry. I don’t do it to hurt you, I don’t do it because I’m embarrassed of my emotions: it’s an instinct. My mind refuses to let others see my pain.

I didn’t hesitate: I needed this. I threw myself into her arms and let it all out. Tears began to flow like water from a faucet. I couldn’t help but sob as I thought about losing my cat. My pet. My best friend.

Our only other option was letting him live in misery. He wouldn’t last much longer, maybe a year or two, maybe a week or two. But it would be painful. His life would be miserable. All he would know is pain. That’s not a life. That’s hell.

I ended up calling out of work. I was not in the place mentally to work.

I cried the whole time I showered. Sat on the floor, held my legs to my chest, leaned against the wall, and let the water pour over me.

It hurts.

I finally got out of the shower and sat on the stairs next to Bear. I stared off into the distance as I pet his head.

Grandma hugged me, my brother hugged me, even my dad hugged me. Everyone knew that Bear meant the world to me. I was wondering when I was gonna start crying while writing this.

I don’t know why he loved me. Since day one, I didn’t leave him alone. He was mine, and I wanted to be his. I picked him up and paraded around the house with him, brought him to bed with me every night, laid my head on his belly every time he was trying to sleep, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him around like a baby… basically tortured the dude. Then, one day, he started following me to bed. He stopped scratching me when I came up to him while he was in his basket and laid my head on his curled up little body. He had accepted me.

He was always there for me.

Whenever I was feeling low, whenever I needed someone to talk to, whenever I needed comfort, he rubbed his head against mine.

My parents couldn’t have made the process better. Everything I wanted to happen and more happened, and I didn't have to ask for a thing. It was just Mom and me, the two who were most attached to Bear, at the vet. I cried the whole way. I gave him one last kiss, told him that I loved him one last time, and I pet him as they gave him his sedative. The next part was the hardest. Bear’s a fighter, and it was obvious. When we felt we had loved him enough, they started the overdose of sedatives. It took four attempts, but he was finally gone. Finally no longer suffering.

The doctors put him in his basket and they brought him out to us. We went home, and I put him into the hole Dad had dug. I put the first bit of dirt on him. Then we all cried and laughed as we reminisced.

We had always joked that he would live forever because of how stubborn he was.

Did he actually love our other deceased cat? Or did he just love beating him up?

Ripping the wings off of a bat and leaving it to slowly suffer in our basement.

Killing the nest of baby moles in our backyard on one of his many adventures.

Tonight marks the first night I am forever without him in bed with me.

No, I’m not okay. And I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to fix me. I just want to hold him. I just want to hug him.

I want to say, “Let’s go to bed, Bear,” and hear his little bell jingling as he runs towards my room.

I love him more than life, and now he’s gone. I know you can’t hear me, but I miss you, Bear.

Saturday, April 17, 2021

Yesterday, I was running, as is typical for Friday mornings. I have a race on May first, so I was training for it by doing a two mile warm up, two miles at goal pace (under eight minutes per mile), followed by a one mile warm down (I am from Wisconsin, and now live in a Southern state… it was my father's idea to call a cool down a warm down, and now I have a hard time calling a warm down anything else). I was in the middle of the second mile of the actual workout, running down the side of the highway (because there are not many places besides the highway to run on if you want more than three miles and live where I do). I am in front of the gas station that my family has affectionately deemed the 'stinky store,' the turn I take to get off of the highway and back to my house is in sight, maybe a football field's length in front of me.

With only one hundred yards before I make my turn, a cop drives past me. Five seconds later, a cop is on the other side of the road, lights on, speeding down the street. Oh, cool. There's a high-speed chase or something, I thought to myself.

Then the cop made a U-turn.

Uh-oh. They're looking for someone, and they think I'm him, I thought to myself, realizing that this was the same police that had just passed me. Later that evening, I discovered that that was not far from the truth, though it was not the reason she "pulled me over."

For location privacy reasons, I will not go into too much detail about what happened, but, after arriving home from work, Dad excitedly told us about a high speed chase that took place around 2:00 P.M. yesterday. A man was in a high speed chase, fled to my state, hid, and, yesterday, was discovered and sped away again. He turned down the street that I was approaching (again, this was at 2 P.M., I was running at 9 A.M.), and crashed about two hundred feet after passing the cul-de-sac I live on.

After parking on the side of the road in front of me, I was still trying to determine if she was stopping for me or not. When she stepped out and began walking towards me, I slowed to a walk, paused my Garmin, and we met in the middle.

"Hey," I said upon reaching her. The first thing I noticed was how much taller I was than her. Being confronted by a police is already unnerving, but being confronted by a police I towered over and most likely could outrun just made me uncomfortable.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

Carefully choosing my words before speaking, and making sure I did not sound twelve when I spoke, I said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just runnin'. I'm homeschooled," I added.

She spoke a series of numbers into her walkie talkie and returned to the conversation. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, ma'am."

"Date of birth?"

"October 2, 2003."

"Full name?"

"Caleb James Pinnow."

"Pinop?"

"Pinnow."

"Bento?"

"Pinnow."

"Pinnow?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, relieved that she had finally heard me correctly.

"Caleb Pinto," she said into her walkie talkie. I smiled and shook my head. Should have told her "Like minnow, but with a 'p,'" a phrase our family has become popular for using.

"Well, I thought you were nine or ten running from school or something," she explained. "I just saw the back pack and your face and got worried."

I almost took a step back from shock. I did not know how to feel, looking down, literally, at the police officer who said that she thought I was nine. I look that young? I dislike the sound of that. All of this put together made me laugh a little. In a friendly way… not in a mocking way.

After that, she told me that I was good to go. For the remainder of the run, I was trying to figure out if I lowered my voice on purpose, or if it was part of my attempt at acting calm and collected, which became easier as I realized how funny the whole situation was, rather than serious. Had she thought I was the man she was most likely looking for, I probably would have been more nervous.

At work, I told Brad, my favorite coworker, what had happened. I made sure to start with "I almost got arrested today."

Later, he told Donna that I had almost been arrested. When asked why, Brad replied with, "Because she thought he was black."

I already knew what would cap off my amazing week on Sunday. So, while my father was out shopping with my sister, I stayed home, contrary to my usual. Typically I go shopping with my father, however, I needed to make sure that I was fully prepared for Saturday. So study I did.

It was Monday when my week became truly interesting. In search of better pay and a more positive work environment, I applied at a sub place, hoping that maybe I would score a shift leader position. Monday was the interview.

Though the interview was quite strange--there were no proper interview questions (he asked me what my favorite TV show, movie, and book was)--I was not expecting it to take the turn that it did. After talking about the Civil Air Patrol, the only thing on my resume that he read, we discussed what my availability would be. Then when I thought I would be able to start.

“Probably in two weeks, that way I can put in my two-week’s,” I replied.

“Oh, you have a job?” he asked, surprised. “Where do you work?”

It is on my resume, I thought. Did you not read it? Though CAP shows my leadership abilities, my current job shows how hard I work. I not only am a trainer, but I promoted to the highest possible position for my age within my first seven months there… “[Chicken fast food place],” I answered.

“[Chicken fast food place]?” he asked in disbelief. He opened his phone and searched for my resume. Skimming over it, he found it and said, “Yep, there it is. Can you make a sandwich?” he asked condescendingly.

Taken aback by the question and the rude way he delivered it, I blinked a few times, hesitated, and said, “Y-yeah, I can make a sandwich.”

“Well, I have had three people from [Chicken fast food place], two of them were absolutely terrible, and the other was only okay.”

The interview continued for quite some time like this. It was no longer an interview: it was now a session of him talking poorly of past coworkers. Eventually, we circled back around to pay. “So, because of your current place of employment, I am going to have to start you lower than I would others,” he said. I could not convince him to change it, so I turned down the job. Though, judging from the interview, it was probably a good thing. I am trying to leave that negative environment, and this ‘interview’ told me that I would be moving from one negative environment to another.

I find it funny how he went from absolutely impressed because he read the name of the first thing on my resume, to thinking I was a total piece of garbage. I should add that my resume consists of two places of employment… it truly is not the type of resume you read the first item and move on with.

On Tuesday, something exciting happened. Classes started! No, no. Not school. Far better, far more important: on Tuesday, my squadron officially began hosting classes for the FAA written exam. Soon, I will be flying!

It was an amazing class, though it was but an introduction, and slightly impromptu due to an incident the teacher had during that week. He likes to go off on tangents, but, fortunately, his tangents remained educational and on-topic.

Wednesday was met with another interview.

We were supposed to join over a call at 6 P.M. . She did not call. So, I called her, thinking maybe it was I who was to do the calling, and she hung up on me. After waiting for half an hour, I finally sent her a message, asking when the interview was. She apologized and called ten minutes later, after telling me she would call in five.

This already was setting off some red lights.

This was no interview.

She asked me if I knew what the place was, explained it to me, then asked my shirt size. “Small?” she guessed.

Still waiting for the interview to start, I said, “No, I’m a medium.”

“A medium? Well, let him have what he wants… What’s your availability? You’re in school, so probably five to close…”

“I would actually rather work in the mornings since I am homeschooled,” I said.

“No, no, we can’t just interrupt your schooling like that! Even if you’re homeschooled. There are regulations and things.”

Well, I mean, I work in the mornings at my current job…

She then continued to tell me what my availability would be. “I’ll call you on Friday to discuss availability,” she said, “and I will need you to be at the restaurant at 4 P.M. [the next week], okay? Just make sure you send me a picture of your social security number and I.D. so I can set direct deposit and things up. Okay? Buh-bye now, Caleb.”

I left the interview in denial, but I knew deep down the reality of my situation. I let Dad know what happened, and, rather than pointing out the obvious, he told me that I need to reconsider accepting the job, and not to send my social and I.D. (which I was not going to do anyway).

Still in denial, though beginning to accept it, I told my friend. Who read the messages to his brother and cousin (who are also my friends), and was overheard by his cousin’s father. All three came to the conclusion that I had finally accepted and was no longer denying, and my friend quickly responded. “That is a scam.”

I believe entirely that this interview was a scam. The place I applied for is opening soon, and if this is how they truly conduct mass hirings, they need to reconsider. Because it is unacceptable, shady, and very much set up like a scam. I do not think that it was truly the person hiring that I spoke to.

I will be stopping by the restaurant when they open to ask about it. Though I believe it was a scam, I still have a small bit of doubt that it was not. I am just glad that I saw through it before it was too late to turn back. She did not call me on Friday, might I add.

Thursday was pretty normal. Cleaned my room, practiced guitar, and talked to my best friend for quite a while.

Friday, I worked, got a haircut, made some preparations for my huge day on Saturday, and I went to sleep. Oh! Not after first getting a new personal record for my fastest mile! Five minutes and fifty-five seconds.

On Saturday, it was one of the coolest days of my life. I got to ride in, and fly momentarily, a glider as well as perform the ground handling of the aircraft. This was through Civil Air Patrol. I cannot wait to do it again! I was informed that they will be doing one more for our squadron before October, that way I can get more than one out of my possible five glider flights in before I reach the too-old-to-do-it-free age of eighteen.

Flying a few feet off of the ground while the tow plane is still on the ground is quite the feeling, I must say.

The cadets that I met were quite fun to be around. One stood out particualrly, and I cannot wait to meet up with him again some day.

One could say that I had one interesting week.