DEAR MR. SPIELBERG

I was driving as fast as I could from Ohio to Louisville, Kentucky where my best friend Steve was in the hospital.  Just three days earlier I had received a surprise call from him.

"Hey Bill," he said with the joy that was always in his voice.  "Oh boy, it's good to hear your voice."

"Same here, buddy.  How have you been?"

 There was a pregnant pause.  "I need to share some news with you.  My Doctor just told me that I have an advanced case of PNH, it's a rare blood disease and Doc says there are some promising experimental treatments.  But, this could be bad."

 "Wait, I don't understand.  How bad are we talking?"

"Dead bad."

"You could die?"

Steve chuckled.  "I will die, but maybe sooner that I had hoped."

"So does this mean our trip across Canada is cancelled?"

"Lord no," he exclaimed.  "I've been looking forward to that road trip with you since high school.  And I still plan to make it with you, once I get this PNH sorted out."

I was way beyond stunned.  "This is hard to process."

"Well Bill, you have been my best friend over 40 years now, and you are the one person I wanted to know about this."

"Wow, 40 years," I said in wonderment.

"Yep, and when I met you in high school, I was fresh out of the backwoods of Kentucky where I had grown up, and people teased me about being a country bumpkin.  But not you.  I remember you pulling me into your wild world of non-stop fun and crazy, and next thing I know I'm helping you make movies."

"I couldn't have made them without you."

"I really doubt that is true.  You were a one man machine back then, there wasn't any obstacle you couldn't overcome.  And I felt so damn lucky that you called me friend."

"I was the lucky one, always have been."

Steve began coughing hard, causing me concern.  He got hold of himself and assured me he had something caught in his throat.  "I have a really big favor to ask of you."

"What's that, buddy?"

"I've had to consider death for the past few days, although I'm not planning on going anytime soon.  But when my time comes, I want you to promise me that you will get one of your screenplays made into a movie.  I've always believed in you, and your writing and your stories are very good.  You just need a break, and I can't tell you how much I admire you for hanging in there."

I was so moved.  "I admire and respect you so much for the good person you are.  You have helped so many people in your life, you have the kindest heart of anyone I know.  You would quite literally take the shirt off your back to clothe a man with no shirt."

"Can I ask one more favor?"

"Anything, Steve."

"Can you please write a letter to Mr. Steven Spielberg and tell him how much his movies meant to you and me?  How we saw every single one of them from JAWS forward.  And the way that each movie marked a major milestone in our friendship.  Like the day my mom was buried, right after the funeral you took me to see ET.  I was so low, but I came out of the theatre with my heart soaring.  Just write him and tell him, for me."

"Sure buddy, if that's what you want."  I didn't have the heart to tell him that the likelihood of my getting a letter to Steven Spielberg was almost as good as winning the Powerball Lottery.  But there is nothing I would not do for my friend. 

 Once I had dropped off the car I was delivering to Dayton, Ohio, I rented a car from a local Avis office and headed for Louisville.  I had not told Steve I was coming, but decided I should call as I got near and let him know.  After repeated calls and texts were not answered, I assumed that he had already started his treatments.  When my phone GPS told me I was 20 minutes from the hospital, my phone rang and I could see it was Steve.  I quickly picked up.  "Hello, best friend in the world."

"Hi, Bill."  It was the voice of Fred, Steve's only child, only he was an adult now with his own kids.

"Fred, how are you?  I'm in Louisville now and on my way to the hospital."

"Bill..."  Fred's voice cracked.  "Dad just died."

"What?  He what?"

"He was driving over to the hospital this morning, it's over 100 miles from his house out in the sticks.  Just 3 miles from the hospital, a man was texting and driving and went through a red light.  T-boned my Dad's car and it was crushed all around him.  He was DOA."

"Wait, this can't be right."

Fred's voice wavered, and he said, "It's not right.  But it's true.  Bill, I'm sorry but I've got a lot to take care of here right now."

"No, of course, I completely understand."  Fred hung up, and I pulled over and parked.  Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, and I felt a deep sense of loss.  Steve was quite simply the best guy I had ever known.  But I pushed down my feelings and got a hold of myself.  I pulled a blank legal pad and a pen out of my backpack.  I made a promise to my best friend, and I had a letter to write.