The Gloaming

Out on a drive in the country at night. There is a downpour, and there has been for quite sometime now. Three days and no sign of cessation. Weeping willows sag interminably to the point that their leaves blanket the road and the drive ends. The driver can get out and physically move the heavy branches, but the driver fears that he may not have enough upper-body strength, so he stays inside the car and weighs out the pros and cons. It's a plausible scenario, given that if they weren't so heavy, they wouldn't have fallen to the ground, and on the road that he is driving on. He could simply drive around the mess, but who knows how long he would have to drive on a marsh English countryside road. That's an endeavor from hell. So he waits for the time being, gauging how important it is for him to continue driving, and whether or not it is worth it for him to turn around and take the scenic route to his destination. How important the destination is, is up to the driver. He is alone. The radio only produces static. The rain is increasing and there are a bunch of trees in the road. He can't call anyone because he doesn't get reception out here, and it probably isn't worth calling anyone over for. They probably won't be able to help lift the branches. After contemplation, the driver thinks that they may be light enough to lift and move just a couple of feet off the road. But that could be an illusion. Perhaps he has gone insane.

He is going to a cocktail party. He wasn't first on the guestlist; rather, an afterthought. It doesn't matter if he shows up or not. But he doesn't want to spend the evening at home. He figures that he cannot now, not with the knowledge that he could've moved the branches out of the way and made it to the party. It could have been fun. It could have been a disaster. Either way, better than an evening alone at home. But he doesn't have to be alone at home; he could go to the pub with a friend, or he could go to the pub and make a new friend. Yet, the knowledge of removing the branches would be too infused in his mind, and he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself, and as a result, his company wouldn't be able to enjoy his or herself. He could move the branches, but they look heavier than when he last looked. The driver should have picked them up when they looked light enough to. It is the rain that is making them look so heavy. Despite what the weather reports say, the rain cannot last forever. Besides, eventually, someone is going to have to use this road. It's in the countryside, but it's not in an obscure location. The driver has driven this road many times. He knows what's on the otherside. The otherside is a cocktail party. He is not first on the guest list; he could be last. It doesn't matter - he wasn't first.

Perhaps the rain will come down so hard that it moves the branches out of his way. It's possible, given how extreme the rain is. But not likely. No, he has to move the branches himself. They're only getting heavier; five minutes ago was the perfect time to move them out of the way. He wants to go the cocktail party, but the trees are in the way, and he is doubting his perception at this point, given the downpour. He doesn't want to go to the cocktail party because he wasn't first on the guestlist, and this is a good enough pretense not to go. A sign from God. The universe does not want him to go. A pleasant evening at home would be nice right about now, but how could he enjoy himself knowing that he could've moved the tree branches? The universe wants him to go the cocktail party. He is having to earn his invitation. The branches are heavier looking now more than ever. It is darker. Even his headlights are doing him no good. There is nothing now but the sound of rain waltzing on his window, and it is the gloaming. He turns off his headlights and waits.