THE DAY I KISSED CHARLIE CHAPLIN

Charlie Chaplin stood at the bar while my latest internet date, Christian, talked about his workout routines, hair products, and opinions on immigration. He didn’t once ask me anything about myself, but he did make a comment about carbs when I bought a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Charlie Chaplin caught my eye, glanced at Christian, and shook his head. His bowler hat wobbled like a blancmange. He’s so funny. I don’t know how I used to get through the days without him. "Do you like Charlie Chaplin?" I asked Christian. He said, "Who?"

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Charlie Chaplin strolled next to me as I trudged to the bus stop. He seemed to trip, but rather than falling, he tumbled into a forward roll, then sprang to his feet like a gymnast, his hat still, somehow, firmly on his head. I told him he didn’t always have to be ‘on,’ and he smiled. A couple of teenagers stared at us, then looked at each other and sniggered.

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Charlie Chaplin and I watched one of his films on DVD. It was called The Circus. He was hilarious, tottering around on the tightrope. I laughed all the way through it. I told him he was my Granny’s favourite film star and that I used to sit with her for hours, watching all his films. He pointed at a photo on the bookshelf, and I nodded. Yes, that’s her. She passed away more than a year ago. It was the saddest I’d ever been. 

     My Mum and Dad were killed in a car crash when I was a baby, so Granny brought me up. She bought my first school shoes, cuddled me after I broke up with my first boyfriend, and stayed up late with me night after night, helping me revise for my exams. She did everything. She was everything. Then she died. I was empty. Alone. Just existing, going through the motions. This went on for the longest time, but one day, on her birthday, when I felt bluer than ever before and was just staring at one of his films, thinking of Granny, Charlie Chaplin came into my life for real. One second, I was by myself, and the next, he was beside me on the sofa, pulling silly faces. You’d imagine that would be scary, but it wasn’t. He had me laughing straight away, and life became so much brighter.

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Charlie Chaplin hovered at the bar again while I sat through another date. Gary was an accountant. He was nice, but he talked in monotone, and percentages and spreadsheets seemed to be all that interested him. I barely managed a smile until Charlie Chaplin stuck a cocktail umbrella up his own nose. It was so funny my Tequila Sunrise went down the wrong way, and I coughed all over my pasta. Gary asked what I was laughing at and peered over at the bar. Charlie Chaplin waved, but Gary didn’t even seem to see him. "Do you like Charlie Chaplin?" I asked Gary. He said, "Who?"

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Charlie Chaplin scrolled through Netflix. I told him that not a single one of his films is on there. He pulled a silly sad face, his bottom lip jutting out like a bridge. We watched another of his movies on DVD instead: The Gold Rush. I laughed like a drain while he danced away on screen. He turned to look at me, and I kissed him. I couldn’t help it. But he backed off like he’d been burned and just stared at me with black, blank eyes and a thin little mouth.

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Charlie Chaplin vanished. I blinked after I kissed him, and in that split second, he disappeared as if he’d never really been there at all. Part of me hoped he’d spring out from behind the sofa like a jack in the box to make me laugh, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’d never been there at all. What the hell had I been thinking? I’d been falling in love with a dead man.

     I think I’m cracking up.

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Charlie Chaplin did a silly dance on my television screen, but The Gold Rush didn’t seem funny any more. 

     From the bookshelf, Granny watched me huddle into the cushions and sob. 

     My phone bleeped. Through wet eyes, I read a message from Gary. It said, "Hi again, Sally. I just watched my first Charlie Chaplin movie. I laughed so hard! Thank you for introducing me to him. (And I’m sorry for going on about spreadsheets so much.) I really enjoyed our date."

     Then there was a second bleep.

     "Would you like to do it again?"