NEW YORK SNIP349 Good Story

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How to release the undefinable energy of this love without doing psychical damage. Citing a film script of a somewhat similar situation:
Laura: “Neither one of us are free to love each other; there’s too much in the way. There’s still time if we control ourselves.”
Alec: “Listen. There’s no time at all. Ending our meeting like this will risk doing too much damage to our hearts.”
[Wikipedia] This is a story of two clandestine lovers, torn between their passion and their orderly middle-class marriages in suburban England. It is one of the British director David Lean’s earliest films, ‘Brief Encounter’ 1945 with Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson as the lovers meeting on a chance encounter, based on a Noél Coward play with Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No.2 throughout..
How not to exploit our similar story without exaggerated emotion such as anger for my being rejected, a second time by her finally? How to invoke reality of what truly passed between us during two months prior to the March sheltering-in-place order in New York State, the three months when we sheltered separately starting Saturday March 21, she in a suburban town many miles south in Delaware, I in New York City, and two days on her return on Saturday June 20th? What will keep me calm not blaming the coronavirus pandemic to cause her emotional detachment? What can keep me grateful for what happened between us instead bitter for its ending? I will never, like Laura and Alec, regret our meeting and our loving each other that month – it was so exciting and promising.
Where to begin? We are members of the same Unitarian Universalist congregation. We had only gradually become aware of each other. And when we did she asked me to please keep our relationship secret from the congregation for ‘professional’ reasons. We were both part of a Senior Spirits group, she in her mid 70s, I at 87. She was a four year widow from a thirty year marriage to a psychologist, her second marriage. Her life a professional middle class suburban wife. She is third generation American. She just moved to New York last year. My life was as a Euro-American artist, mostly bachelor, with serial romances following an early common-law marriage to an Afro-American woman with our two daughters now in their mid fifties.
Our first memorable encounter was at one of those Senior Spirits meetings at a large round table when I was sitting beside her at my left. It was the coffee-klatch hour following the UU service. I’m part of the choir; after the last musical number, I as usual, go quickly to the food tables before a line is formed causing the last to join a long line. When she sat down, having talked with a minister, not joining the long line, I offered her a cookie and grapes from my stash. Reluctant at first, she accepted it being hungry without breakfast before walking to the church.
My hurried getting food has another purpose besides eating as to avoid talking with people. I am a solitary person uncomfortable in social situations. Before the service, we, the five or six choir members, have a rehearsal of three hymns we will sing during the one hour service. I have enough time to go outside, around the side of the church, to take two puffs of a marijuana joint. I return more sociable.
And it was in one of those moments that I hadn’t been consciously aware, though common when I’m in ‘high’ spirits, that I had brushed her bare forearm with my hand. She had been startled by my intimacy but had not moved away. When high, I behave with few boundaries. I depend on that effect of cannabis for creativity, for relaxation, for music and for sex. Smoking marijuana is a vital friend to me. The next Sunday, she said she was going to the movies that afternoon. I said I wanted to go with her. She said:
“No. I’m going with a friend, a very sociable woman. I wouldn’t want you there because she might go after you.”

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