“Your lei looks great with that shirt,” she tells the quad. “Wait till you see all the wild decorations we made!” Her tone is inappropriate, no doubt; but who’d dare complain about excessive Camp Spirit? Willie is gently chuckling.

“Why can’t she just leave well e-nough alone?” I ask him.

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe she could, but she doesn’t. Not ever. That’s how she is. Nothing’s ever ‘well enough’ with her. You just have to love it.”

Peggy Jo pushes Sara up to us.

I feel Willie lean forward. Bowing maybe. “Welcome to Father Damian’s leper colony.”

“Go to hell, Willie.”

“You ladies look lovely tonight. As always.”

“Thanks. You look hideous. As always.” He jostles my frame. I like feeling him laugh through my chrome, even though he is laughing at Sara’s joke, and I know that all my irritation is evaporating in the low sun of late afternoon.

The doors open, and we’re hit with the sweet smell of greasy food. I’m starving; that cheese sandwich wore off hours ago. I pass through the door and get my first sight of the decorations. Amazing! I can’t suppress a squeal; my left arm shoots out with a little punch.

Sara catches my eye. “I’m really glad you like them!” is what she says. But she seems to say more: that she cares what I think. Even if I am a Norm in Crip’s clothing, she cares what I think.

The centerpieces, a jumbled heap back in the cabin, now stand out against white tablecloths. Their colors are repeated in the red paper napkins, yellow plates, and multicolored streamers hanging from the rafters. The electric lights are dimmed beneath white Japanese lanterns. Most of the light comes from candles on the tables. For people who were cooped up all day, the effect is dramatic.

The room looks even better when filled with all the people in wild flowered clothes. I don’t think it’s much like Hawaii, but it is beautiful. And the strangeness of it—the wheelchairs, the crutches, the unusual bodies—all that makes it more beautiful, not less. It’s exotic.