Dave Casler
PO Box 98
Ridgway, Colorado 81432
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.
About Series Home
About the About Series
Index to All Chapters
Here are all the chapters, disguised as asterisks. Hover your mouse over an asterisk to see the title of the chapter. Click on the asterisk to go straight to that chapter.
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(About Dan Home) (Last) (Next)
Remember I Love You
His mom’s car was gone. He found a note on the counter.
"Dan, I love you with all my heart. Please always remember that." It was signed simply "Mum."
Have I driven her out? Where’d she go?
Everything else was untouched. His backpack was still by the refrigerator. The dishes were undone. The bills were on the table. Eerie. Even the phone was on the table. Not like mum. He made no move to put it back.
He went to his room and knelt by his bed. He wanted some help, and if from no one else, why not from above? He fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position for his bum leg. He tried putting all his weight on his good knee with his bad knee bent and sort of dangling beneath him. Then he pulled up his leg so he was just kneeling on his right knee. Then he straightened his left leg out in front of him, then behind him. But he was determined to pray. He tried everything he could think of. He pled. He laid out the situation. He tried listening for an answer. He waited for a warm feeling. He waited for thoughts to float through his head. He pled some more. He even cried for a while.
Nothing happened.
The same very mundane thought kept coming into his head like a cold that won’t go away. Why do I keep thinking I should call Peter? That seemed so stupid and obvious that he kept trying to put it out of his head and come up with something important. Perhaps the Lord would tell him what was wrong with his mother? Maybe a telephone call would come from someone who knew what was going on? How about if he found a medical report his mother accidentally left behind?
And then there was the matter of his father. He had been betrayed.
By the time he gave up he was having serious doubts about prayer and, in fact, whether there was even anyone on the receiving end. He flopped onto the bed, completely drained. Nothing left. No ambition, no anger, no crying, no fears, just nothing.
Oh, well. I might as well call Peter. He certainly had something interesting to tell him. Did he dare confide in Peter? Well, he'd told him about the AIDS test. Why not the rest of the story?
As he rose he thought his room looked stark. His knee ached harshly from the long walk and the attempt at prayer. Only the overhead light was on. His curtains were still open, looking out onto the black street. That’s it—the curtains. Gotta close the curtains. That big black square bothered him. It always did.
He turned around suddenly to head toward the window. Even with the brace, he torqued his bad knee just enough to cause sharp pain, so much that he collapsed on the floor and wrapped himself around his knee like a little baby around a toy. The abrupt pain scared him. For a long moment he held his breath, frozen. I’ve ripped it apart! O my God stop the pain!
It settled into a dull fire. He sat up and massaged his knee. Yes, the brace is adjusted properly. He put his finger between the brace and his leg where it always seemed to rub him wrong. There was a callus.
He'd left his cane by the door, so it was no use to him now. A glance at the alarm clock told him it was six-thirty. There was still homework due tomorrow, sitting in his backpack by the refrigerator. He steadied himself with one hand on his bed and hauled himself to his feet. Try the bad leg. So far, so good. He took a tentative step toward his desk. Doing better. Snow came down outside—he could see it against the streetlight. He let the blinds down, switched on his desk lamp and turned carefully—on his good leg this time. He headed toward the kitchen and the telephone. He picked up his cane on the way out of his bedroom and used it.
He had a need to turn on lights. Darkness bothered him tonight. He turned on the lights in the hall and the bathroom. He turned on the overhead light in the living room. Not satisfied, he turned on both table lamps. He turned on the kitchen light and the little light under the cabinet that his mom never used. The house was so empty.
He hoped the phone was charged. His mom was always telling him to put it back in the cradle. How long did she talk with Joyce?—she must’ve called Joyce.