The Hunchback of Notre Dame often evokes images of a misunderstood creature with a heart of gold. He leads a lonely and meaningless existence until he meets and falls in love with the beautiful Esmeralda. Their one-sided love story ends tragically when Esmeralda is hung on suspicion of being a witch, and Quasimodo is so overcome with grief that he lies beside her corpse and starves himself to death. The whole tale is incredibly macabre (nothing like the Disney version, people—read the book!) and loosely parallels an experience I had as a younger lady.I once had a deaf Quasimodo in my life. Although he shared his namesake’s red hair, unappealing body shape, and unfortunate facial features, his heart was not made of gold. Quasimodo, “Quasi” for short, had set of crooked teeth ranging in hue from yellow to black. He also had a number of unattractive habits, which included smoking three packs a day and driving with the Backstreet Boys playing at full blast. The bass in his Geo Metro was so loud the windows shook and probably came perilously close to shattering. I’d like to attribute his poor taste in music to the fact that he was deaf, but it could’ve just been poor judgment (a sign of things to come). Quasi was also one of the loudest mouth-breathers I’d ever come across in my life. (As an aside, I’d like to emphasize that Quasi’s unfortunate looks, ginger-kid genes and poor lifestyle choices earned him his nickname, not his disability).
I first met Quasi at Phil and Syl’s church. As with most parishioners, Quasi viewed Phil and Syl as Deafie guidance counselors. Quasi perpetually needed guidance. At all hours, Quasi would spontaneously appear at our house, citing a need for “advice,” “discipleship,” or “fellowship.” I thought nothing of Quasi’s frequent visits and did my best to steer clear of him and his stench. One Sunday after church, I was feeling bored and charitable, so I carried on an entire conversation with Quasi wherein both of us weighed the pros and cons of N’Sync and the Backstreet Boys.
Not long after our scintillating conversation, Phil and Syl were out running errands when the TTY rang: it was Quasi. For those of you who have not done your deaf-awareness homework, a TTY is a prehistoric deafie phone—an archaic instant messaging machine, if you will. After informing him that neither of my parents was available to chat, I was about to hang up the phone when—out of nowhere—the following words scrolled across the screen:
WAS WONDERING IF YOU HAD A DATE FOR VALENTINE’S DAY? IF NOT I WOULD LIKE TO TAKE YOU OUT FOR DINNER AND DANCING
Egad! A shiver of horror mixed with disbelief and panic scurried down my spine. Temporarily ignoring the fact that a grown man had just asked out me, a sixteen year old, I was perplexed by the latter half of Quasi’s unsolicited invitation. What sort of dancing might a deaf Backstreet Boys fan have in mind? My mind raced as I briefly pondered the possibilities. Almost immediately, an unsettling image of Quasi and I, drenched in sweat, mouth breathing, arms flailing and feet stomping, with a neon Dance Dance Revolution sign overhead came to mind.
Panic-stricken, I slammed the phone receiver down then dialed my best friend Jessica’s number. Before she could say hello, I breathlessly rehashed the details of Quasi’s indecent proposal. Having met Quasi several times, Jessica howled with laughter before adopting a serious tone and commanding me to lock the doors and draw the shades in case Quasi decided to stop by. Knowing that the odds of Quasi showing up unannounced were pretty good, I ran around the house like a 1940’s housewife reacting to news of a Soviet bomb threat—I closed all blinds, shut off all lights, and locked all doors before collapsing on my bed in the dark, woozy with worry.
When Phil and Syl finally arrived home, I bolted upright and my fear quickly morphed into outrage. I stormed downstairs and promptly relayed the night’s events in detail, hoping that Phil would spring into action and attempt to defend my honor in some fashion. Sensing a window of opportunity, I also made a transparent attempt to parlay my trauma into a get-out-of-church-free card by claiming that future church attendance would simply be too much to bear.
Ever the pragmatist, Phil listened to my plight, but concluded that, while Quasi was a creep, he did not want our already small church to lose a member. Creeps need Jesus the most, after all. Furthermore, my ploy to get out of church indefinitely fell flat as Phil deemed my presence necessary to keep up our attendance numbers.
And thus, the tragic story of Quasi and me continued with Phil’s blessing. Week after week, both Quasi and I faithfully attended church. In a congregation of twenty people (or less, if it was a holiday weekend), I quickly realized that I would not be able to ignore Quasi entirely. Of course, Quasi exploited this fact and perpetually selected the seat directly across the aisle from mine. As I listened to his mouth breathing and inhaled the aroma of his cigarette stench each week, I could not help but suspect that Quasi was fantasizing about the day when the church would become our private sanctuary. And then I would throw up in my mouth.
