Letters to Steven Spielberg

By Hannah Simon

Time 6:25 am
oh my goodness did it feel wonderful waking up this morning with the bright sun peaking out from these clouds that were wispy and would probably melt in a couple hours and makes you wonder, briefly, with this sort of childlike curiosity what exactly clouds are and how they can simply disappear, and i don’t mean what are they in the literal sense because we all know that clouds are condensed water and air and dirt particles and whatever else they taught us back in 6th grade but it makes me wonder like what they feel like, to run your hand through them, are they silky and ethereal or do they just sort of slip through your fingers like nothing?
i remembered how, before she got bad, Mom would tell us that she could make the clouds disappear with her mind and we would laugh (because really, how can you do that?) and she would insist that she could; she’d take us back into the yard and we’d lie there, grass undulating in ribbons around us, and we’d point to a cloud and she’d say OK, and she’d stare and stare and then it would disappear, just like magic, and i’d look at her in disbelief, her forehead creased in concentration, eyes wide, tangled black hair wild in the wind.
it was just like that, one of those perfectly crisp autumn days and i thought today i would be so productive at my job (where i am an administrative assistant at the hospital library where i mainly staple and make photocopies but this is only temporary until my writing and acting career really take off they say at least 3-5 years before you make it and i submitted my acting reel to Steven Spielberg who knew my mom and i’m just waiting for him to get back to me) i am starting to staple and then this just amazing feeling comes over me like i want to dance and laugh, like creativity is pulsing through my veins and it’s pulsing through the clouds outside so i can’t even staple my hands are shaking and who has time who has time to staple when there is so much world to explore and so much beauty and i could hear back from steven any second. the inside of my skull begins to tingle my life is about to begin to change forever and so i’m writing sorting out mythougths spinning spinning heart going so fast like amotor cantstopwordsspilling outitstoofastIsend theemailagaintohimtoseeifhesawmyactingreel!!!!

Time 6:45. my boss just left so i have some time she saw me come in and she said she knew right away she made me take the pills, white and blue, so only a few hours before they kick in to write it all down.
she- my boss- is a social worker but because they think im sick since my mom was sick they have her watch over me and check in on me while i “assimilate” as she says with a bit of a lisp so it sounds like she is saying “athimilate” she’s fine i don’t really relate to her i don’t think she has very much creativity or we just don’t really click on some deeper level or she belittles my talents doesn’t want them to get in the way of my work but i know that when i hear back from STEVEN everything will be different she’ll finally see my potential i am thinking about this new project though it’s a trilogy that’s postacopalytic- this world where everyone has to take medications that dulls their feelings and makes them zombies and then the one main character the protagonist who is beautiful and unique and doesn’t really fit in with the rest of her society stops taking her medication to see how that will affect her life and suddenly she is transformed but must escape “theman” or the powersthatbe that don’t want her to experience what life really feels like the sharpness the vibrancy the thump-thump in your chest, the rollercoaster, the icy tingle along the tiny hairs on your arms, the wild black hair in the wind its good right but maybe too much like 1984 or was it brave new world which we read in ms corley’s class in high school when I sat next to kevin lewis and he would rub his leg on my desk and pull my desk closer to him and then later we would fall in love and then break up which was for the best because he never understood my potential
(I was too hot and cold he said and he now hes some boring lawyer at some stupid firm and his girlfriend is a little Barbie doll and she blocked me on facebook and wouldn’t even respond to any of my messages so weak at least give me a response I played alannesse morrissette and im here to remind you of that mess you left when you went away its not fair to remind me get up get get up get up) my boss coming over need to staple.

Time 7:20. Haven’t heard back yet from Stephen. I want to capture the last bit of this feeling before it’s gone. Take a deep breath, in, out. What do I feel? I miss her so much every day. They tell me, this is why I need to take my medication. So I won’t wind up like she did.
Sometimes I’m angry at her, for leaving us. For being selfish. And having children, when she knew she had this terrible affliction of the mind, something insidious imprinted in her DNA. And my father was just as bad, he loved her energy, he let her go up up and away and never anchor her down when that’s all she needed. He doesn’t look like himself anymore when he comes to the hospital for visits, as though he’s aged 10 years in the span of a month, eyes glassy and glazed over like an infant’s. It’s strange because I don’t feel sad really. I don’t feel anything. Just hollow.

Time 7:45 am. Will try to write later. Have too much stapling to do. Still no word from Stephen.

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