Most likely he’d still be struggling but I’m going straight for the fantasy.
He would have just finished the album he was working on and be rapping for audiences everywhere–working it with the passion that was so characteristic of Charles before addiction. At the same time, he’d be doing some stand up comedy gigs. He’d be sort of poor but happy. And a little frustrated because he was never patient and wanted fame to happen right away.
Eventually, he’d get a break because he always held audiences in his hands. He connected with people on a deep emotional level and he was flat out talented, an amazing performer and a brilliant lyricist.
He’d have a dog which he’d adore and the dog would rarely get an early morning walk and would adjust to Charles’ bizarre sleeping schedule because that animal would adore him. He would squeal his name like he squealed Andy’s name.
He would try to take that dog everywhere and get angry that the dog couldn’t come in coffee shops with him. “Why not? Where is that rule published?” he’d ask, always pushing the envelope, bending the rules and coloring outside the lines because that’s where he lived.
A handler would be helping him with financial aspects of being an up-and-coming star. His mom would have suggested that, knowing he had little practical sense and no sense of budgeting or handling money. In every city, he’d hang out with friends and fans, giving autographs generously, remembering what it felt like to see a star you loved.
Despite a lot of women throwing themselves at him, he’d be loyal because that’s how Charles was. He was a hopeless romantic, falling hard and deep.
Eventually, he and his brother would collaborate on a project about his past and how he’d managed to overcome and cope. He’d be as adored for telling his story as he was for his music and comedy.
This “what if” fantasy brought to you by a grieving mother whose son died by suicide.