A man, Richard Chamberlain, and I are deeply in love. Another woman is in love with him. He and she are sort of engaged. She is American Indian. He must stay with her because of the vows. It is painfully poignant when we are together, because we know we can't have each other. There is some ceremony where he is placed between two cloth partitions (sheets). He is kneeling, like in a confessional. She stands on the left side behind the sheet, and I stand on the right side, peeking out from the split in my sheet (like two curtains pulled together). He smiles at me, sadly. Then she begins to get hysterical, accusing him of being untrue and doing her wrong. As her accusations get more hysterical and untrue and harsh, the entire tribe begins to see it is wrong. They walk away from her. She is now sobbing and screaming that she had been to the doctor's this morning and got bad news. Finally she's on the floor sobbing. Everyone has left the building except me and Peter Jennings. I resolutely stand up from her fallen body and walk away, now leaving her entirely alone. I feel very sad for her and worried she will kill herself. I say to Peter after we are outdoors, "I don't know how long I can bear to stay away. I'll probably return and stay with her for a while." I see my lover walking toward me. He and I meet, and lay down together slowly on the cement stairs. He touches my cloth collar at my neck caressingly, a forbidden touch, but we must connect. I sigh and say, "I think she's dying," and then I say, "It feels so good to be near you." He says, "Yes, for me too."