WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8, 1944
Margot and I have been writing each other notes, just for fun, of course.
Anne: It's strange, but I can only remember the day after what has happened the night before. For example, I suddenly remembered that Mr. Dussel was snoring loudly last night. (It's now quarter to three on Wednesday af- ternoon and Mr. Dussel is snoring again, which is why it flashed through my mind, of course.) When I had to use the potty, I deliberately made more noise to get the snoring to stop.
Margot: Which is better, the snoring or the gasping for air?
Anne: The snoring's better, because it stops when I make noise, without waking the person in question.
What I didn't write to Margot, but what I'll confess to you, dear Kitty, is that I've been dreaming of Peter a great deal. The night before last I dreamed I was skating right here in our living room with that little boy from the Apollo ice-skating rink; he was with his sister, the girl with the spindly legs who always wore the same blue dress. I introduced myself, overdoing it a bit, and asked him his name. It was Peter. In my dream I wondered just how many Peters I actually knew!
Then I dreamed we were standing in Peter's room, facing each other beside the stairs. I said something to him; he gave me a kiss, but replied that he didn't love me all that much and that I shouldn't flirt. In a desperate and pleading voice I said, "I'm not flirting, Peter!"
When I woke up, I was glad Peter hasn't said it after all.
Last night I dreamed we were kissing each other, but
Peter's cheeks were very disappointing: they weren't as soft as they looked. They were more like Father's cheeks -- the cheeks of a man who already shaves.
