Other Writings
- Republican
A short story from Ploughshares - Anything That Floats
A short story originally published in The Paris Review and reprinted in New Stories from the South: The Year's Best 2005 - On Rejection; or, Dear Author, After Careful Consideration
An essay originally published in Shenandoah - Ode to Southern Heavy Metal
A short essay from The Oxford American - Ode to Giant Cowboy Boots
A short essay from The Oxford American - Back in the Day (Just A Few Years Ago)
A short essay from The New York Times Magazine - Best New Novelist: Per Petterson
A short essay from Men's Journal
Audio
- A Love Affair With Skateboarding (MP3)
A short audio essay that originally aired on NPR's "All Things Considered." The commentary was produced by Ellen Silva for the January 17, 2005 edition of ATC. - Outside the Toy Store (MP3)
A recording of Bret reading "Outside the Toy Store". The reading was recorded and produced by Dianna Stirpe, and originally aired on WSUI, the NPR affiliate in Iowa City, IA.
Republican
Page 5
Carlos had gone outside after the phone went dead; he thought lightning had struck the shopping center; the floor and walls had jolted, like an earthquake. But there'd been no more lightning, just gusts of wind that blew the rain sideways and sent shallow waves rippling over the dark parking lot. He was about to return to the restaurant when he saw the downed telephone pole, then after he shelved his hands over his eyes, he recognized the car smashed under it, heard its weak, droning horn and saw the headlamps shining dimly through the darkness. The driver was a college student named Whitney Garrett, and if Carlos hadn't carried her to his truck and driven her to the ER, she might've died.
I'd taken the morning off to bucket out the Caddy's floorboards, but that afternoon Carlos recounted everything. He was frying flautas, dancing around the kitchen with his spatula and beer. He said, “Cook saves princess, earns handsome reward.”
“How handsome?”
“Julian, by the looks of Mama Garrett, I won't need to borrow your accordion again.”
“Carlos, I don't own an accordion.”
He slid the flautas onto the plate, spooned on extra rice and beans, then rang the bell for Alma to take the order to her table.
Carlos said, “Yet. You don't own an accordion yet.”
* * *
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