In Spite of Perfume.

He stands in the wings of a California restaurant. A fine dining restaurant that bustles with diamond drenched, hair coiffed, middle aged women. Expensive perfume permeates the air. He leans up against the ice machine with one leg up, picking at his nails. Although his body is relaxed, if need be, he's ready to pounce. I could see him cage fighting. His pointy jaw and spiked hair, his trimmed beard and beady eyes. But somehow it has nothing to do with the way he looks, it's something in his energy, like he could backflip over me, steal my wallet, knock me out and escape without time for me to even notice.

He didn't like me when I first started. I could tell. I would try to make eye contact with him as we passed each other, parting through the perfumed air, carrying expensive salads, and he would look right through me. Like even though he knew I existed, he wasn't about to waste his energy on an acknowledgement or expression.

And then I'm not sure what happened. I'm not sure how I won him over. It was when I stopped trying, as generic as that sounds. But, I wonder from his perspective what the moment was that he decided to accept me.

The day he did, it was like a flower bloomed. All of a sudden, the cage fighter became and indescribable spirit. No longer just a stereotype. No longer a 30 something white male who probably grew up in foster care, and spent time drug dealing, stealing and abusing. Suddenly, his smile shed the scars of 30 years and a child like innocence bloomed through.

He spotted a Bixie on my bracelet. A Chinese winged lion that wards off evil spirits. "That's my favorite animal too." He told me without an ounce of agenda or flirtation. Simply for the sake of relating. He has one that faces his front door. To keep the evil spirits out.

He plays in a recovery flag football league. Alcohol and drug free since 2005. And this is his first job. Waiting tables. His first "real job", that is. We talk as the perfume dissipates and the lunch rush dies down. He tells me he got this job by the Grace of Gd. He's done a lot of bad things, but he's a good person. He decided he was going to change his life for the better.

Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who finds that decision to be nothing short of miraculous. That switch that goes off in people. The one that makes them want to change their ways and take responsibility.

So often stories like this fall on deaf ears.

People proclaim: People don't change. You never really KNOW someone. If someone has the capacity to commit evil once, what's to say they won't do it again? How do you know he's not just pulling the wool over your eyes?

He tells me he wishes he hadn't wasted so much of his life and missed out on so much. He's 35. He has the rest of his life. Contrary to what some might believe, there can be value in the darkness. Especially once one makes the choice to turn towards the light.

Maybe it was all of his tumultuous, irresponsible choices that gave him the well of strength to change his ways and attack life with such power and dedication. To commit to the light. To never go back to the darkness, because he knows it too well.

Only someone who has had the courage to see the darkness could understand this about my new friend though. Someone who fears the darkness, but has never truly seen it, may fear him instead of understand him and embrace him as nothing short of human. Because in the end, we really have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. We are all dark, we are all light. We are each other.

Maybe I am getting a little existential, but the point is, my friend is beautiful. He is always trying. Abiding by rules he used to break. Serving old, perfumed ladies from whom he used to steal. Selling food instead of drugs. Paying child support for a child he used to pretend was not his. Committing to a woman on whom in the past he would have cheated.

Who's to say that isn't magic? Who's to say that miracles don't happen? Who's to say he isn't worthy of trust and love?

Stories. We all have them. Some of the most interesting, victorious ones remain untold out of fear of misunderstanding, abnormality or disrespect. Some of the world's greatest heroes work in restaurants, gas stations and dry cleaning shops. Their magical powers and strengths- a mystery to most who cross their paths. Except those of course who dare to stop, look a person in the eye, and care. Not even ask, but just have a moment of human connection.

Sometimes it requires offering a personal piece of information first. Other times, it's merely a compliment or just existing silently next to someone. Or maybe even noticing a Bixie on someone's bracelet and sharing, "That's my favorite animal too."