Ralph was a trucker, and like every trucker he sometimes suffered from the occupational hazard of loneliness. It was 1 A.M. on a Thursday morning and Ralph had been driving all day long. Though he was tired, the appearance of a blue sign informed him of a rest area one mile ahead. Ralph perked up; maybe he wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight. He pulled off the interstate into the parking lot, and once he'd found a space he folded his Yosemite Sam mud flaps into the wheel well; trucker code for “I'm looking for a good time.” Hopefully, Ralph thought, one of the other truckers would notice it and join him in the men's room. He was happily married with children, but the emptiness of road often filled his mind with desires that couldn't be met by his wife due to geographical differences.
Ralph found a clean stall and sat himself down on the toilet as he waited. Having nothing to do, he scanned the graffiti that lined the walls. Most of it was faded, illegible, or both, but one scrawled recently in black permanent marker caught Ralph's eye. In large, loopy letters it read: “For a good time call Midnight Otto.”
“Eh, I got nothing to lose,” thought Ralph as he entered the number into his cell phone. The phone beeped, signaling its intention to dial, and Ralph's heart raced as the phone rang once, then twice, before Ralph was startled by a noise in the stall to his right. A cacophonous clanging of xylophones, blaring saxophones, and raucous drumming assaulted his ears at a tempo almost fast enough to match the beat of his own surprised heart. The initial shock caused by this unexpected explosion of sound soon changed to bewildered interest as Ralph attempted to place the song. The song continued for a few more seconds, and once the violins came in a sudden feeling of recognition swept over his mind; it was “The Merry Go Round Broke Down”, the same song that had introduced the Looney Tunes shorts he had loved so much as a child.
“Must be a ringtone,” thought Ralph. The song ended abruptly, and Ralph was surprised again by a voice speaking directly into his left ear. In his shock, he'd forgotten that he was still holding the cell phone.
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssss?” Said a voice not unlike Snagglepuss's. It was effeminate and constantly switched from high to low pitch. “Can I heeeelp you?” the voice asked in stereo through the cell phone in Ralph's left hand and the stall to his right.
“I... I'm looking for a good time?” Ralph didn't understand why he'd stated it as a question. The absurdity of the past moment had sent his mind reeling.
“I don't know, aaaarre you?”
“Uh. Yes. Yes, I am. Is this Midnight Otto?” The call ended abruptly and the phone went silent. Two quiet honks alerted Ralph to a pair of over sized, garishly colored clown shoes in the next stall that had not been there a few seconds ago. They were purple and yellow and had plastic daisies glued to the tips. Small, black rubber bulbs attached to tiny horns protruded from underneath the heels. “Was he standing on the toilet the entire time?” Ralph wondered. He stared at them in amazement, unsure of what would happen next, feeling as if the door to the restroom had led him to some parallel universe where anything was possible. Several seconds passed in a tense silence and Ralph was drawn back to reality by the sound of the next stall unlocking. Slowly, almost dramatically, the clown shoes exited the stall.
Honk... honk... honk... The shoes reappeared beneath the door to Ralph's stall. Their owner knocked on the door; shave and a hair cut: two bits. It was too late to back out now, Ralph realized. Whether he liked it or not he was going to meet Midnight Otto. He rose from his seat, pocketed the cellphone, and opened the door slowly.
Ralph was greeted by a clown dressed in an over sized single piece clown suit. Its loud color scheme of shiny reds and blues assaulted his eyes. The midsection was large enough to hold two, maybe three clowns, while the sleeves and leggings tapered closer to the skin as they extended outward to a pair of silken white gloves. A series of comically large and mismatched buttons on the chest area led Ralph's eyes upward to a painted white face marked with a gigantic red smile.
Ralph stared at the clown. The clown stared at him. Having met Midnight Otto, Ralph was now unsure of what to do. Ralph's jaw lowered slowly, as if trying to speak, but hung there uselessly as the words refused to come out. Otto slowly put his hands out, showing Ralph his palms. He flipped them around to show Ralph their backsides. Then, as a magician would, he pulled back his sleeves to reveal that there was nothing hidden there. Taking Ralph's dumbfounded silence as tacit approval that this was not a trick, Otto made a quick flourish with his hands, producing a silver bicycle horn.
Bewildered, intrigued, and just a little bit scared, Ralph stood perfectly still, a statuesque representation of complete and utter shock. Otto, still holding the horn in his hand, slowly covered the distance between the two as if trying to approach a scared animal. Two slow, honking steps later and the clown was inches away from Ralph's face. They continued to stare. A silver flash appeared before Ralph's eyes accompanied by a high pitched honk, which sent Ralph stumbling backward and onto the toilet he had just risen from. The clown's eyes went wide and his eyebrows arched as he put his free hand to his mouth in an overdone, pantomimed apology. The silver horn consumed the entirety of Ralph's attention, and it seemed to float there as if the clown's hand was being supported by it.
Stamped onto the horn's side was the old Sturling bike logo, from the time before they'd switched from selling children's bicycles to manufacturing professional racing cycles. Ralph had once owned one before it had mysteriously disappeared one night. His father told him thieves had taken it, but the bike was untouched and had been locked securely in their garage at the time. The sight of the horn unleashed a flood of childhood memories that swept him away to another time: the over sized shoes on the welcome mat that belonged to no one in particular; waking up late at night to the sound of honking; the way his mother would leave the room when he and his brothers would tune into Bozo the Clown. Ralph couldn't believe it, but he had to ask.
“Ralph Watson Sr.?” Ralph whispered as if ashamed to entertain the idea. Otto's clownish expression contorted to one of genuine shock. His hand went limp and the bicycle horn fell to the floor, punctuating the silence with a feeble honk. Slowly, he turned around and honked his way over to the sinks, supporting himself against one, his back turned to Ralph. The clown's shoulders began to shudder, and in the mirror Ralph could make out tears rolling down the clown's face, leaving white streaks on the painted smile.
“Where have you been all this time?” Ralph slowly approached Midnight Otto from behind and put a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror, both sets wide and wild from the enormous feelings prompted by this miraculously serendipitous meeting. Otto turned around, and the two embraced, hugging each other tightly as if they might be forcibly separated again.
“I'm so sorry,” Midnight Otto whispered into his son's ear, no longer sounding like Snagglepuss, “I just... I just...” Otto let out a deep breath, recomposed himself, and relaxed his grip. He stepped back to get a better look at his son, keeping his hands on Ralph Jr.'s shoulders. His wet, red eyes darting over his son's body, constantly shifting between feelings of sadness and joy, pride and remorse.
The two continued to stare for several moments, each trying to speak but finding it impossible to do so. Outside, a car could be heard pulling up into the rest area, followed by several voices. Father and son stared into each other's eyes; no words were needed. They both knew that they had to separate. Otto returned to his stall and Ralph walked back to his rig. Unable to sleep, he drove until dawn, when he pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot for some much needed rest.
It was Ralph's final route. Upon returning home, he quit his job and began looking for one that would keep him closer to home. The cell phone containing his father's number was returned to the company. Ralph could not bring himself to copy it down, and the act of returning it filled him with a sense of finality that helped him put the entire ordeal behind him.
Several weeks later, Ralph returned home from a job interview to find a small package addressed to him on the doorstep. The return address simply said, “Scenic Arizona Rest Area, Route 40.” He entered the house as quietly as he could, so as not to alert his children or wife to his presence, and made his way down to the basement. With the care of a surgeon, he opened the box with an Exact-o knife and rifled through the packing peanuts until he felt something small and metallic. As he pulled it out the packaging gave way to the shape of a silver bike horn stamped with the old Sturling bike logo.
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