Michael's story ..and the first time I was called a broad

Anyone who's ever been to Shepherd's Bush can attest to the fact that there's nothing pastoral about the place. It's pretty resounding, it does the name justice, if you look at it like that. It's brash, harsh, in your face and has the unique ability to make you feel like you don't belong and at the same time, that you can live there because in all the crazy there's no pressure and you don't draw attention. For a displaced soul, it's quite accommodating. Observing while blended, but not immersed, you find yourself a privileged spectator of quite a show and it becomes clear that art does imitate life. 

It's Saturday evening and of course I am expecting a dose of crazy. What threw me was the timing. It's 7 pm and by all standards, even Shepherd's Bush ones, too early for crazy.

I stop outside of the tube station to finish my smoke. A tanned, surprisingly young looking middle aged man also smoking outside looks at me and says "Hello!"

I smile and say "Hi!"

He's wearing a checkered shirt with short sleeves, a wife beater, white baggy shorts and bright white trainers. Basketball aficionado meets barbecue dad. Definitely not a product of the Bush. He's head is shaved and he has a silver goatee, beady eyes and a convivial look. Tattoos of some sort or Madonna and other biblical imagery peer out of the shirt to reinforce my assumption.

This followed:

"I just moved here 4 days ago.I landed and my friends and family sorted out a flat for me. If you ask me I'll tell you my story."

I didn't and wasn't really planning on it, as I had exactly one cigarette's worth of time, but I did ask:

"Where did you come from?"

"Los Angeles!"

"Wow! Why did you trade LA for this?!"

arching my arm over the depressingly overcast sky of the Bush

"I was born here...Newcastle."

pointing towards White City, as if Newcastle was just a bus ride away, but I guess in American distances that's pretty much accurately scaled

"I left when I was 5 months, this big"

cupping his palms to form a cocoon of about 20 inches and his gestures are becoming increasingly exuberant 

At this point he's clearly beginning to get comfortable with the situation because he starts taking charge of the space around him, moving in leaps and bounds, resembling a white but tanned rapper. He keeps his distance though and it feels like he's  dancing around me, talking at me, faster and faster and his voice mimicking his movements, is growing fainterand louder. All this time, I was feeling like my ears where somehow muffled,it may have been due to the atmospheric pressure  of that evening, or the fact that I hadn't left the house all day and those where the first 10 min of fresh air I was breathing.

He carries on :

"I spent 18 years and 143 days in prison and when I got out I got deported."

 
"Oh Wow! What were you in prison for?"

now I realize that my physical unease was justified and that this was going to be interesting

"8 armed bank robberies and one attempt. 18 years and 143 days, man!  You're a very good looking broad! Very attractive. I'm flirting with you, this is what this is."

wow! I've never been called a broad before and nearly choked on the cigarette smoke I had just inhaled 

"Ohhh....Okay, thank you."

"You know, we should hang out. It doesn't have to be sexual, though you know it should. I'm energy, you're energy..this is what it all is - energy, man! This is what I've been doing since I landed - drinking and meeting people."

 
"Cool. So....what's the plan?"

here's me with the pragmatic question to an ex-con fresh out of prison and barely just recovered from jet lag after having been deported...

"I'll give myself a break for a month or so. I have a flat that's paid for. I'm looking for a woman, you know, man? I mean I have a couple of girlfriends, but ya know....I'm looking for a woman. You're a cool broad!  Let's have a drink! Talk like this - it's nice. And I've got some money we can burn. Not a lot, but some..." 

the definition of a cheeky grin appears on his face, one that assumes I'm somehow in on something or that signals I'm just being let in and he's almost running circles around me at this point

"Oh...no... Sorry, I'm meeting a friend for drinks."

He launched into a confusing and at times inaudible tirade of compliments directed at me but also himself, assuring me he also is a cool guy and that he's aware he's not the smartest but he's got a lot going for him. 

We finished off with the unsuccessful negotiation of phone numbers and my nagging sensation that this is not the last run in with Michael, Shepherd's Bush's newest American outlaw in search of a woman. 

Part of me desperately wanted to hang out, to hear all about the 8 and half bank robberies, about life in prison and even more about life after prison. He was so upbeat, so unphased, unjaded and unapologetic. The other part was yelling Are you insane?! 

When all is said and done, here's a guy who sells himself at face value, for whom the anxieties of modern man around human interaction, the insecurity of the future, acclimatization and the conundrums of self image projection are non-existent. He simply wants to drink and meet people and that is what he does. Whenever I'd state emphatically that I would never be able to do something or other, or stand a certain situation, my dad would always say to me Necessity is the best teacher. So when you've spend a third of life confined, limited in your experiences and contact, approaching people on the street  with your story and an invitation becomes second nature.

P.S. this is not the first time a middle aged American ex-con asked me out. 

This happened 10 years ago in the store room of a Salvation Army outlet in a suburb one hour outside Chicago. I was looking to buy a cheap bike and he was working there. While fixing my bike, he explained he had just been released from prison after 13 years. 

A very cool,calm and naive 20 year old version of me asked "What were you in for?"

"I shot one of my friends with a shotgun because I caught him touching my daughter one morning after a party."

I said I would've done the same and began looking for the exit signs.

When he finished, he invited me to dinner and a movie. I declined, explaining I had a boyfriend (which wasn't exactly true). 

Still, he wrote down his number and said I could have two. 

I wasn't convinced and after leaving the parking lot, threw away the piece of paper, but thanked him profusely for the two free bikes he had given me.