Ororo, the teacher who accompanied Victor, is as serene as her student is hyper. Her carriage reminds me of a queen. She declined photographs at first but Victor's enthusiasm in the portrait studio was contagious, especially after he connected his player to some speakers. He and I were pleasantly surprised to discover that Ororo loved to dance.
"Dancing is a celebration," she said. "You're doing something good here. I think that calls for a dance."
"I'm just taking pictures," I said, my ears burning.
"Yes. And they are lovely. You see us through uncommonly naked eyes. You focus on our faces not our mutations. You hear our stories, not our headlines. We really are normal to you, aren't we?"
"I don't think you're normal any more than, gosh, Mozart or Bill Gates is normal."
She smiled. "What would you call us then?"
I gave it a thought. "I don't know. I'm not really a writer. I guess, when you put it all together, you're just people."
Sunlight flooded the studio. I think, wherever he is, I made Doug
proud with my answer.