It was about 9:30pm and I was parked near the levee, curled up in bed attempting to watch Bo Burnham: Inside. Suddenly someone tried to open the RV door. My dog Romeo growled fiercely and I heard a girl's voice say, "Let me in!" I heard a fumbling of the door handle, then a fist banging on the door. "How does this open?" the voice said. It sounded like the voice thought I was expecting their arrival. The door was unlocked, and I figured it would be flung open any second. But magically, the intruder couldn't open it, and moved on to trying the front cab passenger door (which was locked).

She was not speaking coherently, stringing words together like: "scared, killing, just let me in, she kicked me out, I gave him a blowjob, three blowjobs, the man in the blue car." On and on. She seemed crazy, unpredictable, possibly on drugs. Did she just witness a murder? I asked her basic questions: "Are you safe? What's your name?" The responses were garbley gook. I took a deep breath. The surprise visitor had woken me up from watching a comedy and thrust me into a real-life thriller. An exciting night in Linda, CA.

Her arrival had spooked me. But I remembered: go towards the fear. "I'm going to just be with this," I thought. She was outside the window, jabbering incoherently, occasionally demanding that I let her inside. I grabbed the mini keyboard, and began to play some mellow electro piano music next to the window. I sang her a song with the words: "I don't know what is good or bad, I made it up in my head." 

The intention was to be soothing and calming. And I think it worked, because the visitor mellowed out for awhile. I could barely see her through the cracked window, but dshe was in her early 20s, a good-looking girl with a cute round face. At a break in the music she put her hands through the window onto my hands. "Just let me in," she pleaded. "I'd rather not," I told her.

Suddenly, she pivoted from the window, took a few quick steps, and burst through the RV door. She flopped on the bed. Everything was still for a moment, except her fidgety hands. I asked her questions again, gently. "Is there someone I can call? Do you have a phone?"

She seemed tripped out, disjointedly babbling to herself on my bed—not drunkenly, but incoherently. This is ridiculous, I thought. I laughed to myself, thinking, "What the hell is going on right now?" I stayed seated on the couch and just witnessed. Just allowed. Eventually, I played keyboard again, singing oldies, making the most of the situation with my audience of one.

I did have a reaction. This is a crazy person. They are in my personal space. Banish them. They are trouble. Call the police. Please, someone deal with this crazy person. But could I just be with it? Be present with her? Allow my space to be invaded for a moment?

She was lying on the bed, looking over at me. All of the sudden, there was a feeling of sexuality in the room. It even smelled like sex. "Whoa, no, no, no," I thought to myself. Sexual energy in the room? That feels wrong. Wrong! But then I remembered: allow. I have to allow the feelings. So I just sat there noticing, and allowing, while also concerned for her safety. And my safety.

"I hate myself," I heard her say multiple times. She put her hand on my knee. I attempted to console her hand with mine. We held hands for awhile. I noticed her wrist had cut-marks, so I rolled her sleeve back gently... it was full of dozens and dozens of scars from cutting. There was another disjointed flow of words from her: "You're S-A-D, got pregnant with, of her, saying yes, to a man, and gave to them both have, cuz she has brown hair."

I did feel like she could explode at any time, like start screaming and bashing in the RV. But I chose to continue to be curious, and not resist her strange need to be in the RV, on my bed. "What did you eat today?" I asked. "Violence," she answered. I asked her if she had weapons on her. She said no. 

She seemed to have just one item with her and that was a bottle of blue nail polish, which she twirled around and around in her fingers like a Fidget Spinner. She fidgeted with it for an hour. Eventually, she opened the bottle and painted the polish on her most recent cutting scab. Then she licked it off.

She was calm for awhile. About 90 minutes. Like a doctor examining a patient, I squatted next to the bed and took a closer look at her face. Then she tried to kiss me. I pulled my head away quickly, dodging her advance. 

I laid down on the couch, assessing the situation. Could I just let her have my bed and let her rest for the night? Is her thug boyfriend about to show up and rob me? Will she get crazy with a blade? I went into the kitchen and took all the knives off the magnetic bar and hid them in the back of a cubby.

Back on the couch, I almost fell asleep. Then I felt her watching me. I pretended to breathe deeply, like I was sleeping. Was she waiting for me to fall asleep? I yawned loudly. Then, she reached over from the bed and started petting/tapping my leg and knee. It felt sexual. There was definitely sexual energy in the room again.

I got off the couch and studied her face once more, at close range. She tried to kiss me again, and I dodged. Then she quickly licked my nose. It felt like she was a crazy unhinged, incoherent, sexual she-devil. She touched my privates through my sweatpants. Then she stripped off her jeans and button-down flannel shirt in a flash, and just lay naked on the bed.

Whoa. I had a surge of concern for her well-being. I told her that I was concerned. She raised her voice and let out some loud outbursts. It seemed like she was teetering on the edge of a screaming rage. I already had been hosting an unpredictable loose cannon, and now she was naked. I felt a fatherly, caring energy come over me and I sat on the edge of the bed and gently extended my hands to her shoulder and back. She was slumped over, kind of balled up. 

She perked up her torso, and I carefully embraced my arms around her. She seemed to be very receptive to being held. I stroked her hair gently, in a way that felt like I was caring for someone in need. Her back was soft. There was no sexual energy in the room anymore, but a heightened sense of the moment. I was embracing this naked intruder who seemed to have some major issues, and it felt right. It felt like she really needed a hug and a non-sexual embrace from a man.

I told her, "Yes there was sexual energy in the room, and also I'm extremely concerned about your well-being." I asked her nicely if she'd put her clothes back on, and she did. I also told her I was exhausted and really wanted my bed back. She understood she needed to leave the RV.

As she got up from the bed (for the first time in the 4 hours since she'd come inside) she went in the opposite direction of the door and started rummaging through my things. I calmly and firmly said "No, no," and guided her back towards the door. She grabbed my favorite pen off of my notebook. "It's mine!" she shrieked. "Fine," I said. She can have the pen.

She made it outside, and I closed the door and locked it. Twenty seconds later she started pounding on the side of the RV. Pound, pound, POUND! She was liable to start breaking things. I opened the door again, just a little, and gently and firmly told her, "It's time to go home." I closed the door. Silence. This time, she left quietly. I didn't see her again.

She looked like a crumpled up, possibly dead, piece of human putty. I was looking at a person slumped over, their face hidden by a black hoodie, lying partially underneath a bus stop bench on a busy street. It was the kind of sight that's painful to see. And because I didn't want to see it, didn't really want to deal with it, I knew I had to go towards it. It was almost noon on a beautiful late winter day in Linda, CA.

I had just purchased ingredients at Toro Loco to make guacamole, so I prepared a big bowl, and took it over to the crumpled person along with a bag of chips. I sat on the bench and asked, "Hey, would you like some guacamole?" Surprisingly, a relatively coherent woman lifted her head towards me and softly replied, "Yeah. I would."

Her name was Dragonfly, and she had some red splotches on her face, and a bloody dime-sized open wound in between her eyes. While I served her chips one at a time, dipped heavily in guac, she talked of California, her three kids and husband in Minnesota, how she hates herself, and did I want her to suck my dick. "No, thanks," I said. 

We ate a lot of guac and chips, and it was nice to just sit there. Feeling thirsty, I bought us beverages from the corner-store: Spindrift sparkling water for me, and a Sprite for her. She was grateful. After the drinks, I was ready to take my dog Romeo for a walk. Not expecting her to say yes, I asked if she wanted to join. She did.

From her sidewalk crumple, she rose up to a standing position like an old discarded toy that had new life. I fetched the dog. "You wanna tie your shoes?" I offered after we started walking, noticing her laces fully undone. "Don't tell me what to do," she snapped. Then she told me she was just joking.

Walking around the neighborhood, Dragonfly began sharing about her trauma as a child getting bullied by boys. She talked about the time she was 14 and nearly killed a little boy while she was babysitting him. Her stories made her sound unstable, and I was struck with a feeling that maybe I shouldn't have brought her along for a walk in the family-friendly neighborhood street. 

Back in the neutral zone of the Kwik Mart, she became overjoyed when she saw the Mexican slushee cart. Also it was kind of a hot day. She was so fantastically excited, I thought, "Why not treat this person?" I bought us each a fruity drink. She tried to pressure me into tasting her slushee, drinking through her straw, but I refused. I could have said goodbye to her then, but I didn't. She was so lit up, looked so healthy compared to her initial crumpled-up position. We were on this little walking adventure, so I just stayed in it.

Eventually we walked all the way to the levee, and as we hiked up the grassy side, I pointed out a dragonfly perched on the side of the trail. She got all excited, and showed me a tattoo she had of a dragonfly on her back. I smiled. The moment felt aligned. We paused on the top of the levee and I sat on a concrete block, while she began obsessively pulling weeds out of the sidewalk cracks. Under the grass was moistened dirt, and she churned it over and over with her hands. It looked quite therapeutic and satisfying for her.

Sitting down next to me, Dragonfly picked at her face wound. There was also a stench of urine that followed her. She asked if she could give me a shoulder massage. In my mind I winced, thinking about her bloody fingers. "Um, if you wash your hands," I shared. She was offended for a moment, telling me, "I would be taking showers all the time if I could!" 

There was a huge puddle of water below the levee, and it seemed relatively clean. I pointed to the puddle as a place for her to wash her hands. She shrugged and said, "Yeah, why not." On the way down the levee, I found a little plastic heart-shaped pail and gave it to her. She was absolutely stoked. She now had a fun vessel to hold the items she was carrying: a whole roll of aluminum foil, and a Pepsi cup with personal things inside of it.

I also found a broken ukulele, just the wood box part, no strings or neck. I sat down on a mound of dirt 30 feet from the puddle and played the ukulele like a drum, getting really into a groove. Dragonfly waded into the puddle, rinsed her hands, rinsed her face, and even dropped her sweats and cleaned her butt and privates. Then she just splashed around.

Boom! Ta-gatta-ta-gatta! I kept drumming, and watched Dragonfly play in the mud and water, like a little child. She seemed quite happy. The impromptu drum sounded amazing, and I kept playing and playing. I felt like Dragonfly and I were fully "in the zone," at one with the moment. I laughed out loud with glee.

When you are really making music and dancing, thoughts melt away, and it's a blissful kind of feeling. You are in the moment. The moment is perfect. The moment is a puddle by the levee with three abandoned shopping carts, the industrial noise of highway traffic, and a partly-naked Dragonfly lady playing in the mud like a child. And I'm crushing it on the ukulele drum. We were rockin'.

Eventually I realized it must be getting close to four o'clock, which was when Black Balloon Day was happening. It was an event in the Walmart parking lot to honor people that have been lost from opioid overdoses. They were going to release balloons into the sky. Did Dragonfly want to join me? Yes, she did. I left the puddle and headed towards Walmart, Dragonfly cheerily tagging along. 

On the way, we saw three little girls playing with sidewalk chalk in a motel parking lot. Inspired, I asked if I could use their chalk. Then I drew a huge skateboard under this big rabbit one girl had already drawn. The girls' mom ended up getting a cigarette from Dragonfly, and the two were chattin' it up, connecting, like two mom friends. It felt magical. 

The mom was astounded I drew a skateboard, and told me her daughter had just gotten a real skateboard...what a coincidence. I looked over at Dragonfly and saw her smiling and smoking, seeming like a normal person. Was this the same crumpled heap I saw at the bus stop? Was I helping her?

Soon, we made it to the Walmart parking lot, and easily found Black Balloon Day. It felt like we had just completed a marathon, and the finish line crowd was the Black Balloon people, and they were thrilled with us. Immediately, this lovely warm Latina woman approached us like we were VIP, and gave us a tour. There were a bunch of tables with snacks, Narcan (Fentanyl overdose medication), and brochures. It seemed so aligned that Dragonfly was there, in the arms of these addiction support people. "Her life's turning around!" I thought to myself, as I accepted some free Narcan. I looked over and saw Dragonfly stuffing little bags of chips from the snack table into a free fabric bag. 

Earlier on our walk, I had offered to buy Dragonfly one new article of clothing from Walmart. "Jeans!" she had said ecstatically, "With bling on them!" We still had some time before they released the balloons, so we walked across the lot to Walmart. I asked Dragonfly if she'd wear a band-aid if I bought some. "Sure," she said. 

In front of Walmart, she greeted a man sitting on the curb who was dressed like a homeless fashionable skateboarder. "This is my new boyfriend," she told him proudly, motioning towards me. I didn't take the comment too seriously, but maybe I wasn't clear enough with my intentions. The man on the curb turned to me, "Careful dude. She doesn't know her own strength." 

Ignoring the boyfriend talk, I focused on doing something nice for this woman. Dragonfly was also requesting new underwear and Dove cucumber soap. I went in and bought everything. Then I delivered the items to her in front of the store, with receipt in the bag. She promptly went inside to the bathroom to wash and change. "I hope she doesn't return everything to get money for drugs," I thought.

After 20 minutes Dragonfly finally came out wearing the new pants and seemed satisfied. She handed the band-aids to me. "Better if you do it," she said. I put one pink strip diagonally over her open wound. It looked like it'd fall off, so I put another one. Now Dragonfly had a band-aid "x" between her eyes. It looked weird, but it's helpful, right? Right?

We walked back across the lot to Black Balloon Day, and were met once again by the lovely warm Latina woman. She turned to Dragonfly, "Oh you don't need band-aids," she said, "You're beautiful, honey." I felt so stupid. What the lovely warm Latina woman had said felt true. Were the band-aids just for me? Just so I don't have to look at her raw wound? Just put a band-aid over the problem. 

The event turned into a free Christian dinner, with chicken, potato salad, and bread. Everyone held hands and somebody said a prayer. It was sunset and nightfall was approaching. Eating dinner next to Dragonfly, she seemed exceptionally quiet and reserved, and I was concerned about her. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" I asked. "Do you want me to stay with you?" she replied. "No," I said.

"You want me to find out if there are services here that can help you?" I continued. She told me, "No, I'll be fine," but seemed disappointed. Soon I was watching her over on the curb of the parking lot, getting crumpled up again, slumping over with her foil and smoking straw. Someone at the dinner had a bag of free clothes so I brought her some fresh socks, which I knew she wanted. It was breaking my heart to leave, seeing her crumpled up, looking so similar to how I initially found her.

It had felt like she was turning over a new leaf. As our time together had progressed, she seemed full of vigor and a positive outlook. "I have $300 at Western Union my mom sent me awhile ago. I'm finally gonna get it!" she had told me at one point. She had this energy that felt like she was about to change her life in a positive direction. 

All in all, we shared some magic moments. Alive, present moments. And we definitely went on an adventure. But I couldn't help but think I was just putting a flimsy pink band-aid over the wounds of her life.

The next day I found her plastic heart-shaped pail under a freeway overpass. I hope you are well, Dragonfly.

Some names and details in this story were changed for privacy reasons

When I first stayed in Marysville doing this project I was a bit reserved. I was partly afraid of the energy outside: various unhoused people, the feeling of people doing meth or fentanyl, and a constant mega-flow of traffic, cutting through the center of town. I did a lot of jogging with the dog, and walking to Ellis Lake everyday.

It can take some time to adjust to a new place, and feel a part of it. I went to an amazing free improv comedy club on E. street at the Yuba-Sutter Center for the Arts and met a slew of friendly folks. I found the Jimboy's manicured trees (see video on this page) to be something oddly grounding for me in the middle of Marysville. I met a tall homeless viking dude on D St., and instead of giving him spare dollars like he asked, I bought a pizza for us. He was grateful, and super hungry.

Sitting on the grass, he told me how it was challenging being homeless, and it was obvious he was struggling with drug addiction. He was sweating profusely and I learned he was beginning fentanyl withdrawals. He talked to a passerby drug dealer and hoped to buy some fentanyl as soon as he had enough money. As a back-up plan, he said, he had some Naloxone (opioid overdose medication) that he was going to take. Eventually, I left him with the rest of the pizza, and wished him the best.

I ran into this viking dude 5 months later, at the Marysville Bok Kai Parade. He looked healthy and was thrilled to see me. He told me he had been sober for almost 5 months and that the pizza gift was a memorable event for him. He enthusiastically introduced me to his friends as "the pizza guy."

At the end of my first week in Marysville, I was finally feeling more connected to the town. It was around sunset on my last day, and I was at my favorite river spot near the train tracks. I saw some teens drinking and vaping across the river, and it was the first time I had seen anybody on the other side. Though I had no interest drinking alcohol, I heard myself yell, "Can I hit that?!"

The crew of four yelled back, "Yeah! If you can get over here!" So I stripped down to my underwear and swam across the Yuba River with Romeo the dog following, in mildly chill waters, as it was late October. I met the gang as they cheered for my arrival, and accepting the bottle, took a baby sip of tequila. They were all in high school, except one. The leader, Von, a half Native American, had dropped out. He seemed like a super genuine dude and had a positive outlook. "I feel like I'm doing pretty well," he said, "I have a job, I have a girlfriend." He beamed a huge smile.

It was a magic moment hanging out down by the river with the gang, watching a beautiful orange sunset. It felt like it would be a scene in a movie like the Sandlot, or Stand by Me. The crew lived in Linda, across the river from Marysville, and it was a whole other world over there. We exchanged Instagram contacts and Von messaged me later saying it was great drinking with me, and that I always have them to hang out with when I'm back over there.

I watched many of Von's Instagram Story posts for over 3 months, and noted that there were strong themes in what he shared. Content about trusting your friends, trusting your girl, suicide, loyalty, depression. If you're his bro, call him whenever, he will be there for you. He'd rather you call at 3 am then find out later you died.

Eventually I followed up with Von and interviewed him on the levee in Linda. In the interview, Von, aged somewhere between 16-19, told me that Linda is overshadowed by Marysville and Yuba City. The media, he said, only shows the bad stuff that happens in Linda. But Von, who works in construction, also told me, "It's bad out here." He cited gangs, murders, burglaries, and wannabe gangsters. 

He said the biggest issues are being able to trust others, and teen suicides. He said in a heartfelt manner, "Kids need people they trust and can feel like they can share their problems with, without feeling judged." When I asked him where his ideal place to live would be, his answer was the Idaho mountains, where he can contact people, but not just anybody could contact him. After the interview, I gave Von some small gifts, and we left on great terms, following up with messaging each other days later on Instagram.

I decided to live in Linda for a week, and I let Von know. I was surprised when he ceased to return my messages. I'm guessing he had a change of heart, and felt like he couldn't trust me. I hope you're doing well, Von.

I went on to fall in love with the flavor of Linda, and found a handful of Unlikely Gems that are things that made me feel a part of the area.

Some names and details in this story were changed for privacy reasons