Walter White Didn’t Lose Gray Matter. He Sold It.

Silverware

The first time Walt went to Gretchen’s house for dinner, it was autumn.

He wore a shirt that had been washed too many times. The collar had gone soft. Gretchen’s dining room had a long table. Silverware lay on it, knives and forks lined up in order, each one bright enough to show a reflection. The housekeeper brought out a dish he could not name. Gretchen’s father asked what he researched. He said organic chemistry. The man nodded and turned back to Gretchen’s mother.

Walt said fewer than ten words during the whole meal. Under the table, Gretchen touched his hand. He pulled it back.

On the way home he drove his Pontiac. The wipers had a problem; they dragged across the glass with a dry sound. Gretchen said tonight had gone well. Walt didn’t answer. Two intersections later he said, “We’re not right for each other.” Gretchen asked what he meant. He said they just weren’t right. She asked again. He stopped talking.

Three days later he went to see Elliott and said he was leaving. Elliott thought he was joking and asked if he’d had a fight with Gretchen. Walt said no. He just didn’t want to do it anymore. Elliott said the company was just starting to take off, and he should think it over. Walt took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He had written out the terms for transferring his shares himself. Five thousand dollars. Elliott studied the paper and said it was too little. Walt said that was the number.

When he signed, the tip of his pen tore a hole in the paper. He put the pen away, shook Elliott’s hand, and said he wished them well. He walked out without stopping. After he got in the car, he sat in the driver’s seat for a while, turned the key, heard the engine catch, put it in gear, and drove off.

The Check

Years later, Elliott had a birthday, and Walt went. He wore a jacket and stood among the guests holding a glass, not saying much. Elliott pulled him aside and asked how he was doing. Walt said he was teaching at a school, doing fine. Elliott said he’d heard Walt’s health wasn’t good. Walt said it was nothing serious.

Elliott took a folded check out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over. He said it was a hundred thousand, to use for now, and if it wasn’t enough, they could talk. Walt glanced down at the check. The fold was neat. He pushed it back, tapped the table twice with his fingers, tap, tap, and said, “I can handle it myself.”

Elliott said don’t be polite, the money didn’t need to be paid back. Walt said no need. He set his glass on the table and said he had something at home, and left.

Outside, in the parking lot, he sat in the car with his hands on the wheel and didn’t turn the key. The parking lot was quiet. Somewhere far off, people were laughing. He sat there without moving. Then he turned the key and drove away.

Muted

Walt saw the interview on the motel television.

Gretchen and Elliott sat on a couch with the Gray Matter logo behind them. The reporter asked about Walter White. Gretchen said, “He did make some early contributions to the company, but honestly, very limited ones. The company’s success came later, from other people’s work.”

Walt was holding a can of beer. He didn’t drink. He muted the TV but didn’t change the channel. The light from the screen fell on his face. Gretchen’s mouth opened and closed. He couldn’t hear her. Her face stayed calm. Elliott nodded beside her.

He watched. The beer can crumpled slightly in his grip and made a small metallic sound. He set it on the nightstand, stood, went to the window, pulled the curtain back, looked at the parking lot, and closed it again.

Later he went to see Jack. Later still, he left everything in that room behind, including the unopened beer.

The Bag

In the final season, when Walt appeared at Gretchen and Elliott’s door, it was almost dark.

He was carrying a duffel bag. The zipper wasn’t fully closed, and a bundle of cash showed through the gap. Gretchen opened the door, saw his face, and took a step back. Elliott came over from the living room and asked why he was there. Walt said, inside.

He put the bag on the coffee table and opened it. Money, in stacks. He said it was nine million, and they were going to do something for him. Elliott asked what. Walt said they would set up a fund in their name and give it to his son when he turned eighteen. Gretchen said, “Walt, listen to me.” Walt cut her off and said that if they took the money for themselves, he knew some people, and those people wouldn’t reason with them. He said it evenly, the way he used to explain a lab procedure.

Elliott said they didn’t want his money. Walt said the money wasn’t for them. It was for his children. Gretchen looked at Elliott. Elliott said nothing.

Walt stood, zipped the duffel bag closed, but didn’t take it. He walked to the door and paused without turning around. He said, “The boy’s name is Walt Jr. His mother’s name is Skyler.” A pause. “Don’t tell them where the money came from.”

When the door closed, Gretchen’s hand was shaking. Elliott sat on the couch staring at the duffel bag on the coffee table. The zipper pull hung over the edge, swayed once, and stopped.

Pothos

Three days after Walt left, Gretchen saw the pothos on the kitchen windowsill. He had brought it. It had been on the floor beside the coffee table, and he hadn’t taken it when he left. While watering it, she found a piece of paper pressed under the pot. A phone number was written on it, and a name: Walt Jr. The corner of the paper had curled a little. The handwriting was neat.

She stood there holding the paper for a moment, then finished watering the plant.