Memoir

The Time I Ran Away to Join The Circus

You are the Lizard King. And I will follow you anywhere.

I stared up at him in awe.

Standing on the table, his wild mane of brown hair cascading around his shoulders, he threw his head back with a vanquisher’s flair embodying the ghost of Morrison himself and bellowed, “I am the Lizard King!”

Yes. You are the Lizard King. And I will follow you anywhere.

Albany, New York—1993

I was 23 years old. At that age, I had thrust myself into adulthood far too early; I had boxed myself into situations and a relationship that made me feel suffocated and imprisoned. I wasn’t. That was how my immature self coped and processed these feelings. You know — everything was everyone else’s fault but my own. In hindsight, I left a lot of wreckage in my wake.

Needless to say, I was unhappy in my relationship and desperate to find myself again. My friend Chris also wanted to help me find myself again and asked if I would join her to audition for a production of The Merchant of Venice at a local college. I hadn’t done any theatre in a couple of years as it always sort of led to trouble on my part. In those days, it was pretty much either a relationship with a person or a relationship with the theatre. I couldn’t have both. Plus, I loved the flirty, outgoing side of my personality that the theatre and its people brought out in me. Non-theatrical folks just didn’t understand these kinds of things and it always became problematic.

Not only did I make the play, but I landed the lead role of Portia. I was sucked back in. And, of course, this taste of freedom, this bit of independence, my mistress—the theatre—gave me either the strength or the manic episode to leave my relationship at the time and temporarily move onto Chris’ sofa for a few months.

He jumped down grinning and breathless all in one, his Russian-Mongolian eyes shining.

“Kris. Come with me. Let’s leave tonight. Do it. Come with me to join Second City. Let’s just go.”

When he spoke his eyes pierced through your soul.

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

“After we finish this pitcher, we’ll stop at my house and get my things.”

Instead of driving home solo for Christmas Eve in the morning, I would be driving to Chicago with Russell—in my two-tone circa 1983 Chevy Cavalier—after finishing our pitcher of margaritas in the middle of the night. With nothing but a duffle bag in the trunk of my car and a credit card to a joint account with my former significant other.

We quickly finished our drinks, the last remaining people in the joint, and stumbled out into the brisk December night to find my car.

The Lizard King

I met Russell when I was cast in his production of The Adding Machine. He was a highly regarded avant-garde director; I played Judy O’Grady—the prostitute.

At 23 and breaking free, he was attractive in every possible way to me. I loved to tell people that my dream was to live in a house with other starving actors eating cans of beans. He was kind of the epitome of that dream. He didn’t seem to care about material things. He was incredibly well-read, intelligent, and politically savvy, but didn’t cave to “the man.” I had no idea how he made money. He was a bit of a hippie and a true artist. He lived and breathed theatre and art to me. I couldn’t imagine him ever having a “plan b” as I would. And he had that long hair! He smoked cigarettes and pot and whatnot, and girls fawned over him. He was — you know—a bit of a bad boy.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for us to become embroiled in a director/actress lust affair during the production.

He tried to be very careful with my heart.

“Don’t fall, Kris. I’m not that kind of guy,” he’d say. “This is just a thing.”

Let me rephrase. He tried to be very careful with his freedom.

Which was fine. I was fresh out of a relationship and, being 23 and young and not fat and gray yet, was juggling flirtations from every direction anyway.

I drove the entire way from New York to Chicago.

I had a Cat Stevens cassette tape and I can remember playing “Wild World” on repeat for a long stretch of time until Russell finally begged me to stop. Driver’s rights, man. But, Lizard King and all that.

The closer we got to Chicago, the deeper the pit in my stomach grew. I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing or where I was going. I was supposed to be going to my Mom and Stepdad’s for Christmas. Here it was, Christmas Eve and I was rolling into a strange city in my beat-up car, with no money, no plan, and pretty much a duffle bag of clothes and a Cat Stevens cassette to my name.

As we got to the city, my gas light came on — neither of us had any clue where we were, but we figured any place was as good as any to pull off and find a gas station.

As we rolled into a Mobile, we hit the gas tank just in time. High-fives all around! Until we try to start the car back up. That would be one dead Chevy Cavalier battery for the count. Rest in Peace.

Thank God for that joint credit card that hadn’t been canceled. Yet.

Waiting for help gave me an opportunity to ask Russell what our plan is. Because, you know, didn’t think to do that in the bar or on the long drive.

“I know a guy—I told you,” he said.

“Who?”

“He’s a friend. An actor. He said I could look him up whenever I’m in Chicago.”

“Wait. He doesn’t know you’re coming?”

“He’ll be fine with it. Trust me.”

“Where does he live?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? How are we supposed to find him?”

“I’m not worried. We’ll find him.”

I couldn’t understand how Russell could be so calm and unconcerned about things. He claimed to be a Buddhist, but I’m not sure that had anything to do with anything. I was beginning to wonder if he was just irresponsible or, worse, a grifter.

A sobering realization hit me for a brief moment.

Russ totally used me to get to Chicago.

Chicago—Christmas, 1993

It was probably the finest hotel I’d ever stayed at in my life at that point.

Thank God for that joint credit card that hadn’t been canceled. Yet.

We were warm, safe, and had the comforts of room service and a beautiful view. I was able to call my parents (which went about as well as you’d expect — what with me traveling with a strange man and making these crazy rash decisions) and get some rest.

I remember waking up on Christmas day and the strange feeling of nothingness. Russell was Jewish and didn’t buy into the commercialism of it all anyway. I felt sad. And alone. And regretful. And used. And then he’d try to butter me up with affection. I can still picture him brushing his teeth in the bathroom while I sat on the big hotel bed watching the Lionel Barrymore version of A Christmas Carol.

Right before the big realization scene at the end, Russell came up to me and said, “Hey, Kris—I think it’ll be for the best once we get to James’ house that our relationship remains platonic. I just think that will be easier in the long run.”

Yes, Lizard King. Whatever you say.

It took us days of driving around Chicago, Russell making phone calls and leaving messages, pulling out a map, and stalking the Second City building to finally find his friend.

Russell finally had the South Side Chicago address scribbled on a small piece of crumpled paper. The closer we drove toward the address, the more dangerous and scary the neighborhoods became. I was a sheltered, small-town girl—what I was seeing was all new to me, and in many ways, I didn’t understand it.

“Maple. There it is!” He shouted.

I couldn’t respond; I couldn’t breathe.

The ticking of my right turn signal echoed inside my body.

On the corner where we turned was what we came to learn to be a crack house. There was no paint on any of the homes on the street. The houses were all large, victorian, weathered, and falling apart. Many had porch stairs replaced with cement blocks and, boy, there were chain-link fences everywhere.

I didn’t know much about where I was. But you know that instinct you get when something feels dangerous? That instinct was overwhelming. But we were in too deep at this point. Where would we go? I couldn’t keep using that card. That wasn’t the kind of person I was. To be honest, I wasn’t happy about this predicament. I thought it irresponsible that Russell hadn’t planned this out better. But I tried to justify his actions with the fact that he was a true artist.

“Yeah?”

The door slowly cracked open.

“James—it’s me.”

“Russ? What are you doing here? Sorry, man. I thought you were the landlord.”

He was a large fellow around our age with moppy dark hair and rosy cheeks. He opened the door wider.

“Russ…and friend?”

“Hey, man, this is Kristi. We need to live with you for a while. Is that ok?”

“Uh…well, come in. I wasn’t expecting you…I’ll need to talk to my roommate Cory. I’ll—I’ll be right back.”

James slipped out the kitchen toward the front of the house. He seemed a bit annoyed, but as we stood uncomfortably (well, I was uncomfortable…Russell was pleased as punch with himself) I looked around. It was cold. Not just cold. It was freezing. The linoleum was filthy and I noted a chewed-up corn cob on the floor in the corner of the room.

Wow. I made it. I’m going to be a starving artist living with a bunch of other actors eating out of a can of beans.

“Hey—,” said James sticking his head in through the kitchen door. “Yeah, you guys can stay. Come on in. We’ll show you what rooms you can take. We need to clear out the back room for her, but it won’t take us long. That’s my room over there. Cory has the front of the house. You guys can chip in on rent. But don’t answer the door when there’s a knock. We are usually behind so we hide from the landlord. He’ll probably come today.”

Cory walked up to us and introduced himself. He was also an improv actor and he was performing in Tony ‘n Tina’s wedding. Both James and Cory were at Second City, which was our primary goal. “Good to have you guys here. I just have to clear the porn out of this room for ya.”

I peeked into the room, which was to be mine, to see piles of hardcore magazines that I had never heard of or dreamed of existing. Didn’t even know people could do things like that. James and Cory went to work in my room and I helped Russ get his room together.

I could recall waking up on his floor mattress in Albany with pennies and cigarette butts stuck to my body so this squeaky cot in the corner of his room was sure to be an improvement for him. He didn’t seem to want to do much decorating. His attitude was more, you do you Kris while I just lie down here on this cot and read Lolita and smoke my cigarette with my shirt off looking all sexy with my hair flowing around me like an angel.

The boys, who became like protective brothers during my short stay, proudly called me in to see their work. The gaping butthole artwork was cleared from my room and they set up a lovely mattress for me in the corner of the room made out of old plaid couch cushions. It was perfect. One of them set me up with a boom box, and I had a round candle with psychedelic colors that was given to me as a gift before leaving Albany as well as a couple of photos I taped to the wall.

The pounding on the door seemed like it wouldn’t stop.

“Shh, shh, come on — hide! Come here, fast!” James ushered us all into the front room — what used to be the living room — to hide behind the separator curtains Cory had set up. “It’s the landlord!”

The four of us huddled near the barely working wood stove.

“Be very quiet. He’ll go away soon,” whispered Cory.

“Open up! I need your rent!” boomed a voice from all around us.

Shhhh.

Despite the gnarly cat-sized roach in the corner, it was hard to wipe the parade smile off my face. This was something you’d only see in movies. I was finally living life! I was an artist! I was living the dream!

“What’s up with that corn on the cob in the kitchen?”

“Oh, that’s just the rats.”

Yep. Living the dream.

Russell took a long drag of his cigarette and motioned for me to come sit next to him on his squeaky cot with no sheets. He draped his arm around me in silence.

I stared at him in awe.

Sitting on the bed, his wild mane of brown hair cascading around his shoulders, he cocked his head to the side with quiet thought and then said, “Kris, we need to go buy groceries. Do you still have that card?”

Yes. You are the Lizard King. And I will follow you anywhere.

You know I’ve seen a lot of what the world can do And it’s breakin’ my heart in two Because I never wanna see you sad girl Don’t be a bad girl But if you wanna leave, take good care Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there But just remember there’s a lot of bad and beware, beware — Cat Stevens, “Wild World”

If you liked this story, you may also like the continuing adventure: