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Young Adult Novels by Dave Casler...I've been told by publisher after publisher that there's no market for Young Adult novels. I think they're wrong! So I'm putting my novels on-line for you. Forget the publisher! Read to your heart's content--it's free! And, I'd like to hear from you, too! Contact Page. You're reading About Dan. Be sure to check out About Phillip here. Dan is a normal kid who loves his soccer. Except everything goes wrong. Everything. |
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(About Dan Home) (Last) (Next) The RevelationDan pulled into the shopping center at Broadway and Alpine long enough to gather his thoughts. Everything’s changed. The scene tumbled in his mind like laundry in the dryer. How did it go so wrong? He'd seen his dad just once since the Denver adventure; that visit had been cordial but awkward. What do I say to Dad? He always thought his dad’s condo was trendy and upscale: lots of wood at rakish angles. His knee was aching now, both from the grumpy therapist and the long walk from the car. Is it ok to drop in? I didn’t call. What if his roommate is home? Let’s see—it’s Mike, isn’t it? His business partner. Is Dad still at work? Maybe he’s traveling. What do I tell them? I just trashed Mum so she threw me out? Maybe Dad’ll throw me out, too. Dan's heart was pounding when he reached the door, beating with his rising suspense but also from having to negotiate the stairs with his cane. Loud music enveloped him, even standing outside. Jazz fusion. Sort of like dad. He pressed the doorbell. No answer. He pressed again but all he heard was the music. He knocked; still no answer. What to do? I can’t just go home and say, ‘hey, mum, stopped by dad’s but he wasn’t home.’ He could go to Peter's, of course. But here he was, way up in North Boulder. So he tried the door. It was unlocked. He gently pushed it open. He could feel the door vibrating with the music. "Hello," he called tentatively. "Anyone home? He stuck his head in. He couldn't see much so he went inside, closing the door behind him. The entryway was nicely tiled. The furnishings were simple and elegant. Immaculate cleanliness. The walls were decorator colors Dan couldn’t name. Just like the houses he saw in the magazines in Dr. Jones' waiting room. He followed the music to its source. " Anyone home?" he called again. He passed a small table by the wall that had his picture on it, when he was ten years old, just after the family arrived in Colorado. He was dressed for soccer and smiling broadly. Happier times. He was in the sunken living room. Why aren’t the neighbors complaining about the music? The furnishings were straight out of Architectural Digest. A large couch faced the fireplace with its back to Dan. He saw his dad at the same time his dad saw him. Ed was naked: Dan could see his white buttocks just above the back of the couch. Dan's embarrassment lasted only long enough to make out another hand on the back of the couch. The hand belonged to whoever was underneath his dad. It was a man's hand. Dan fell backward against the wall. Ed stared. The mystery hand waved around. Dan heard a voice buried in the music. It was a man's voice; it came from underneath Ed. Ed reached for something and the music died. Ed stayed where he was, holding down his lover. Dan’s jaw worked for five seconds before any noise came out. "Dad. I didn't know," he stammered. His cane clattered to the marble floor. He left it there and stared. Neither moved. The hand stopped waving. Dan felt hot tears on his cheeks; they fell to the floor and hit his cane. "Dan!" said Ed sharply and firmly. "Wait for us in the kitchen." "Secrets. You have secrets too," said Dan. He stifled a sob. "Little Danny doesn't need to stay. I'll just be going now. That must be Mike. Sorry he's so shy." His tone was bitter. Dan slowly reached for the cane without taking his eyes off Ed, who said nothing and didn’t move. He backed away. "Say goodbye to Mike for me, huh, dad? Not a word, huh? We must keep our secrets from everyone. Your nice Mormon boy knows nothing. I'll lock the door for you, ok? Secrets should be behind locked doors, right?" He turned and ran out, cane flailing, brace notwithstanding. He slammed the door. |
© David Casler, 2006, all rights reserved. Comments? Contact Page.