Intermezzo

by Sally Rooney

Now she probably thinks he’s psychotically fixated on chess and can’t talk about anything else: amazing how many people get that impression of him. Almost like there might be something to it.

Thought rises calmly to the surface of his mind: I wish I was dead. Same as everyone sometimes surely. Idea occurs, that is. Remembering something embarrassing you did years ago and abruptly you think: that’s it, I’m going to kill myself. Except in his case, the embarrassing thing is his life.

Maybe there is no solution. What do you want me to do? Pretend to have a different problem that’s easier to solve? I’m just trying to be honest for once in my life. I have no idea what to do.