The Champion

Jonas, my chess-champion, chronically depressed and suicidal med school patient, made a weak attempt at ending it all by throwing himself in front of a car in the hospital parking lot. Dr. Curling, my sharp-tongued supervisor, encouraged me to change my strategy. Part III

It was 15 years ago and halfway across the world, and close to a month after Jonas’s last suicide attempt, that Dr. Curling warned me that I’d better “cure my patient” before I finished my rotation.

“This very well might be your last chance to do something meaningful in your life,” he laughed as he slammed his fist down on his ancient desk. “If you don’t get this one right, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation bad enough to ensure that you’ll be lucky to serve as a radiologist in Prussia.”

I actually had an extreme idea, but Jonas was going to have to be willing to open up to me, and stay with me for the next hour. Most of the time he was in a good enough mood to schmooze a bit after crushing me in our daily game of chess. And this particular day — after chasing my king into a corner and taking my queen with a move called a knight-fork — was no exception.