I had been talking to Boogie Bob on the phone every day after school about our newest NSR b-boys and other shiznit like that. We’d shoot the old shit around for a good old hour, just about every day. The tone of his voice was strangely optimistic, yet vague, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Whenever I asked him if he was coming on Saturday to the battle he would start to waffle. However he would try to appease me and say, “Yep, I’ll be there … Lord willing,” but he was still insisting that I visit him in the hospital ASAP; he wanted to, “Hang out before the battle” he would tell me.
The soonest I could get a ride to the hospital was on Friday (the day before the battle.) So Friday after school, Fandango picked me up in his newly acquired beater of a car. (He just got his driver’s license.) He dropped me off and squealed out of the parking lot to go pick up his girl du jour.
Even though Bob had stopped his chemotherapy, I still had to cover myself in the hospital scrubs, mostly because of the other patients on the unit and their immunities. I walked into his room and he said, “Hey Philip, I’m glad you’re here!”
Bob had never called me “Philip” before so it sounded strange coming from his mouth. Then Bob told me, “My doctor told me: that my immunity is too low and my red blood cell count is too low, so I probably won’t be leaving the hospital this weekend after all. I’m going to be here for a little longer Philip kid,” Bob said as he breathed kind of heavy; asthma sounding heavy, with pale and tired looking eyelids.
“I’m getting a blood transfusion on Saturday and then I’ll be released Sunday or Monday … oh yay kid – I told my mom about the break battle that we are in on Saturday and she brought my fifty buck ante for me, here you go kid,” he said as he handed me the dough. “And Phil, I want you to take my shoes with you. These are my favorite pair of breakin’ shoes. I want you to wear these on Saturday night for me. It will make me feel like I am there at the battle. Can you do that for me brother?” he asked with pleading wan eyes.
“Absolutely, that’s cool as all heck … You will be there with us brother,” I said with joy, hoping to make him happy. But at the same time I was worried about not having his head spins for the battle.
“Make sure you put them on when you are about to do head spins, that’s my move kid! That way, I’ll be there! I will be there in high spirits,” he said as he gave me a BRUG.
“After we serve those Hip Hop Breakers, I will come back the next day and you will have doubled your dough and added another pair of shoes to your collection,” I said cocksure.
Bob started wincing and then hit the “nurse button,” which was unusual for him. Usually he was shouting for Nurse Mary.
“Hi Bob, can I help you?” Mary asked over the intercom system.
“I have a headache,” he told her.
“Be there shortly,” she replied.
Bob warned me, “Don’t pay any attention to Mary today, she is acting all weird.”
“What do you mean by weird?” I asked.
Bob elaborated, “… there were only two of us this morning on the treadmills; ‘Cindy went home to be with the lord’ was how Mary had phrased it while sniffing her nose off. Anywho, Nurse Mary kept looking at the darn treadmill today like a big weirdo. Every time she looked at the treadmill, she would start crying, balling her eyes out like a sissy. Its like: come on! She is all teary eyed over an empty treadmill; a damn treadmill is an inanimate object with no feelings. It’s just a treadmill. It’s just an empty treadmill. And crazy Nurse Mary is getting all teary eyes because that treadmill isn’t getting any use,” Bob laughed with ridicule.
“I even told the nut, I said: Mary, it’s all good baby -I called her baby, she really got a kick out of that - but anywho kid, I told her not to worry because someone will be back here on that treadmill within the week. It happens every week, some new kid comes here with cancer and then Bamm, no more empty beds and no more empty treadmills. This made her cry even more, which was ridiculous because after all, we cancer patients are keeping her in business. Heck she should even thank me for having cancer,” Bob laughed sardonically as he winked. (It was clear that he was only kidding about that last comment). “But don’t be surprised if she is acting all nuts,” Bob said with disdain.
Another nurse came in to bring Bob a headache pill; she told us that Mary was administering med’s to a new patient and that she would be in later to check on Bob.
“See! I told you! A new patient,” Bob said as he continued to rant and rave.
After his big rant, I could see that Bob was getting tired because one minute he was ranting volubly like a lunatic and the next minute he’d be snoring, unless I spoke loudly and woke him up. Which I did a few times, but I started to feel rude.
Once Bob was sound asleep, I picked up his shoes and started walking towards the door. I told Mary goodbye and told her to tell Bob that I would see him on Sunday.
“After your big break dance battle right?” Mary asked.
I held Bobs shoes up in the air and said, “Yep and I am bringing Bobs’ spirit with me to the battle, he will be rockin’ head spins Saturday night. That’s why I have his shoes with me-Bob’s shoes will be revolving around in head spins tomorrow night!”
As I exited Bob’s room I walked past the treadmill room, it was empty, nobody was on the treadmills. I agreed with Bob, there was nothing sad about a bunch of empty treadmills. It was just an empty room.
When I got home from the hospital I immediately went right down to my gray cobwebbed basement. I threw on some B-Boy jams and Chicago House music. I kept alternating records from Hip Hop to House; I couldn’t make up my mind. My vinyl record collection had really grown like mad. If you ask me, a vinyl record collection is a must for any true B-boy (or B-girl.) Everyone else is just posin’, shakin’, and fakin’. But that’s if you ask me.
I began practicing head spins like a freak a zoid. I was already practicing head spins every day, but now that I knew Bob wasn’t going to be able to be at the battle tomorrow, I stepped up my head spin practice sessions that much more. I wore three knit hats, layered on the top of my head because two was no longer enough to mask the pain. I had been practicing so much that I had a tender spot on the top of my head from forcing all of the weight on that tiny little two inch area of my head. I was the first and only to know that Bob would only be their spiritually at the battle and not physically and it was really weighing on my head in more ways than one.