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)
Christmas at Dad's
Dan found a parking place with no trouble. People who live in condos must go elsewhere for Christmas, he thought.
Ed opened the door like he wasn't sure what to expect. He held out his hand to shake Dan's, but Dan had the presents in one hand and his cane in the other, so Ed put his hand down.
Dan followed Ed into the living room. There was neither a Christmas tree nor any other holiday decorations. The same type of background music was playing that Dan had heard twice before, once at the clinic and once the night his mother died. It was playing quietly this time and the selection was muted and less energetic. Definitely not Christmas music.
"Please, sit down," said Ed, stiffly motioning to the couch.
Dan didn't want to sit on the couch—that’s where Ed and Mike did their thing—so he sat in a large easy chair near the fireplace. The chair was deep and cushy, the kind where one can spend an afternoon in deep sleep. Dan wasn't sure he'd be able to get out without help. He put his cane on the floor and let the bag slip down next to the cane. He didn't say anything; he looked around.
There was a gas log in the fireplace. The rug in front of the fireplace had an odd pile to it, almost like it was shag but much of it was cut short. Dan hadn't seen anything like it. It had a very light color, slightly brownish but really closer to white. The large table in front of the couch had a glass top. The couch matched the chair he was in, both off-white leather. He liked how it felt, sort of squeaky under his hand. Modern, abstract art graced the walls. Each wall was a slightly different color. One wall was dark pink. Dan was sure there was a fancy name for each of these colors. His mother would never have approved. There were pedestals around the room, each with a weird sculpture on top. One particularly odd one was part of a woman's face, running down to part of her bosom. Dan thought it pornographic.
He looked over to the dining room, already set for three. The table top was again glass. The table settings looked like the expensive modern stuff he'd seen once in a Denver department store. He couldn't see in the kitchen but could hear someone there.
Ed spoke tentatively. "Thank you for coming, Dan. How's your day been?"
"Fine," said Dan.
"Uh, good," said Ed, trying again to break the ice. After an awkward pause, he continued. "Did you spend the morning with Peter and his family?"
"Yes."
"How are they doing?"
"Fine."
"Did you have a good time there?"
"Yes."
"What did they give you for Christmas?"
"A video, a tee shirt and some clothes."
"Oh."
Ed gave up trying to make small talk. Dan just stared into the fireplace. The gas flames don't flicker the same way a real fire does, he thought. He was uncomfortable in this alien environment, so different from the spontaneous happiness at the Fawke's. They had no fancy stuff you didn't dare touch.
"Dan, you've met Mike, haven't you?" asked Ed.
Dan swiveled around to look at Mike. Mike was taller than Ed, maybe by six inches. He was about the same age but looked rugged, like he spent more time outdoors. He was also thinner and more athletic. He held an acoustic guitar in his left hand, swinging it casually as though it were a piece of sporting equipment.
"Uh, yeah, I saw you at the funeral," said Dan. He struggled to get out of the deep leather chair, finally succeeded, and shook Mike's outstretched hand.
"Very pleased to see you again, Dan," boomed Mike. He’s more enthusiastic than dad, thought Dan. "Your dad tells me you're quite the guitar player."
"I haven't really touched one since last summer," replied Dan awkwardly.
"And your dad tells me you write your own songs."
Dan turned red. "I've done a couple. But that was a year ago."
"Do you remember any?" said Mike, his enthusiasm undimmed.
"Well maybe," he said suspiciously, eyeing the guitar in Mike's left hand.