Whacko and Resa were both on the brink of complete meltdown.
They were loud and had this insane off key laugh which was misplaced. They spoke of meaninglessness, unaware of dates and time and current events.
To hear them was as pleasing as a squeaky wheel or dripping faucet.
Both had never married and never would be. Both would never have children.
They didn’t seem to catch they were not eighteen any more .
Acting like giggling teenagers hiding from mommy and daddy didn’t really work, but they tried to maintain it.
To see Whacko doing that crying thing because she picked up ‘vibes’ of someone else was ‘text book’ transference.
She was crying because she knew no one loved nor wanted her and never would.
She was crying because her boyfriend and I could talk for hours, but he wouldn’t hold a conversation with her for two minutes.
She was crying because she realised that Resa was insane and that she understood Resa.
She was crying because she felt guilty and stupid for barking at me when I defined Resa as mad, because Whacko was just as mad.
Typical position for women like her; women who bobbled through their life as fringes, who would live and die a totally meaningless life.