Heisenberg

I’ve been cutting Peter’s hair for a year. When covid lockdown occurred, I learned to cut my brother’s hair - and yes, he still has two ears. When I first met Peter, he had a great thick tangle of unkempt black and, in certain light, blue hair. It was sexy as hell, in a lost puppy way. Then, one Saturday morning last year, as summer began to settle in, he buzz cut it - out of the blue - you might say. When he showed up that morning for breakfast with Lisa and I (we were at Stillman), Lisa saw him first and turned just in time to see me, see him. She saw my squint as the sign of trouble it was. Lisa’s yoda. “Guys,” she said simply. How can I put this: Eeuuwww, creepy. Peter’s tall and lanky, like descriptions I’ve read of a young Abraham Lincoln, although unlike that great man, Peter’s rather handsome - with hair. If the stubble were red, I could say he looked exactly like a matchstick, but with his black hair against his bone-white head, he looked more like an escaped convict. When he got to our table he rubbed his hand over the ruin of his lost hair, and grinning, said, “How’d you like it?” “Wow,” Lisa said, recusing herself noncommittedly. I looked up from my phone, “We need to get you a HAT,” I said softly. “Why?” he said, his grin dimming by a good 50%. “Because,” I said, summoning all of my notable tact, “you aren’t going to hang around ME looking like Forrest Gump.” I’d just looked up hat stores and found one five blocks away, DelMonico Hatter, on Elm street. They even had the hat I was looking for in stock. “What?” He started defensively. “Get something to go.” I said, standing up and starting to gather up my things. Peter, swimming like he usually does, got an egg & sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee to go. As the three of us were walking, I asked Peter, “You like 'Breaking Bad', ya?” “Sure,” he said, with a mouth half-full of biscuit. “We’re getting you a heisenberg” I said, grinning, “or two.” “No, I don’t know,” he said, slowing his walk. I could tell he was worried about the money. Peter and I had only been seeing each other casually at that point - we’d never even kissed - but I knew he lived on a small stipend, he received monthly, while completing his doctorate. “Look,” I said, coming to a stop. We all came to a stop. “I’m flush, this is MY treat and I don’t want you to worry about it.” When he still looked hesitant, I said, exaggeratedly, as I started to walk again, “Don’t worry, you won’t owe me any sexual favors.” “Aww, DAMN,” he said with a grin. “She does this,” Lisa whispered to him, too loudly. Eventually, we found him two Heisenberg hats for around $200. One, for summer day wear, a light beige Bailey Carver Straw Porkpie and the other, for nightwear, a Roche, DelMonico Palma Felt Pork Pie - just like Walter White’s. He looked quite the bengali menace. Of course, his hair grew back in a few months, but he kept wearing the hats. And now I cut his hair - to prevent any sudden, k-mart inspirations. . . Webster : Recuse: to remove oneself as a judge. Slang… yoda = wise and all knowing. swimming = a good sport flush = money’d up, holding a bag bengali menace = a handsome man k-mart = cheap looking and unwanted.