"Oh. No, actually I came to see you. I wondered if we could talk. ..."

"Of course. Please come in. Would you like some tea, Mary Anne?"

"Yes. Thanks." I don't really like tea, but I

like drinking it with Mimi. She fixes it in a special pot and serves it in little cups that don't have any handles. Then she lets me put in all the milk and sugar I want.

I followed her into the kitchen, and Mimi set the tea things on the table and began boiling water. She took some crackers out of a tin and arranged them on a plate.

When everything was ready, we sat down across from 'each other. Mimi poured the tea, straining the leaves out of my cup, but letting them flow into hers and sink to the bottom. I began adding milk and sugar. Mimi took hers plain — and strong.

"It is very dreary weather," Mimi commented, looking out at the barren trees being lashed about by the wind and soaked by the chilling rain that had fallen all day.

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling sad.

"In this weather," Mimi continued, "I always think of spring. Snowy weather makes me glad for winter, but raw, gray weather makes me wish winter were over. Perhaps we will be lucky and the groundhog will see his shadow."

I smiled. "That would be great."

"And how are you surviving this dreariness?"

I looked at Mimi. Her black hair, which had long been streaked with white, was pulled

away from her face and fastened into a bun just above her neck. She wore no jewelry and no makeup, and her face was wrinkled and creased. I thought she was beautiful. Maybe it was because she always seemed so serene.

"I'm surviving the dreariness okay, I guess," I replied, "but I'm not surviving my father very well. . . . Mimi, do you think I act like a normal twelve-year-old?"

"Tell me what you mean by normal."

"You know — like other twelve-year-olds. Am I about as responsible and mature and smart as other twelve-year-olds, and do I have pretty much the same interests they do?"