Rain poured down and over May’s beauty as Zeb drove us westward. The rain became thick and heavy, but became nice to listen to on the long drive.
What I trusted about Zeb Carlow: his driving, how his Buick Encore handled the rain-splattered highway, his smile, and the facts that he told me about his life during our three-hour drive. I learned that he enjoyed being the only child, that he just so happened to be estranged from his mother since he was twelve years old, and that he hated attending junior high and high school in Pittsburgh.
He said, “Being gay is horrible when you grow up in the city. I was an outcast. Then I found football.”
“You played football?”
He nodded. “Quarterback for two years. I was a god on the field, or at least that’s what it felt like. That is, until all the c
