A sliver of what was left of the waning moon reflected upon the water. Through years of drought, rain was rare in Los Angeles and the conditions over the past month were a complete anomaly. For almost the entirety of October, rain poured relentlessly night and day.

Climatologists were still trying to come up with explanations for the strange occurrence, but Michelle comforted herself as she remembered what her Lola would say. Ayun nanaman si Anitun Tabu. Anitun Tabu is at it again. The Filipino goddess of wind and rain was usually more likely to be airing out her grievances out in the islands, but she could very well have brought them over across the Pacific just like Lola Marcy had brought over Michelle’s parents right before Michelle was born.

Whatever the reason may be, she was glad that the skies had finally cleared and allowed for her to get back to her nightly runs around the lake at Echo Park. These runs were her reprieve from the long days at the office. She was happy to help her patients deal with their issues, but this was her chance to let them go and make space to sift through her own. Much like the lake had reached its capacity for water, the backlog of problems her body had maintained for her mind had started to build up and needed to be removed.

By millennial standards, Michelle was in a great place for a woman her age. Fresh into her thirties, she was a successful therapist going on her second year of practice. She was living on her own almost completely debt-free and had a good close-knit group of friends to rely on. She did struggle with her on-but-mostly-off relationship with her girlfriend, but that wasn’t high on her priority list. Equipped with a charming smile dotted with her almond eyes, she was content with the regular rushes her Instagram account could procure through a flurry of likes.  She was pretty content with her life. 

Her life wasn’t truly hers, though. Both of her parents had been unemployed at the start of the financial crisis in 2008, and as older immigrants it wasn’t easy to bounce back and find another job. Since Michelle started working retail in high school and through odd jobs in college, over half of her and her brother’s paychecks went into making sure that her parents were okay. This stood to be true ten years later, and it didn’t help that her parents were divorced and living under the same roof out of necessity. Michelle and Renato had become the parents giving out allowances and regulating tantrums.

It had been two weeks since she had heard from her brother. After finding out that their mother had used his credit card to buy a new mattress without asking, he had reached his threshold and told her that he was done playing caretaker. Michelle stayed silent as her brother chewed her ear off over the phone about how their parents didn’t deserve the kind of support they had been giving them. Her silence only angered him more, and before he hung up for the last time he tersely declared,

“You only let them take over your life because you’re too afraid to live your own.”

Michelle had given her all to run off that last sentence. She muttered it to herself over and over again, and each time the words sank heavy into her bones. She thought that this run would be her way of shaking off all the built-up tension, but it was clear that this first lap was purely for processing. It all needed to move in her before it could move out.

Things had started to lighten up during her second lap once she started focusing on her breathing. She started to find her stride as each step became more spirited in place of the leaden pace she had begun with. Michelle had finally started to feel like herself again – less lost in her head and more present in her body.  That was when it all began.

Out from behind one of the few L.A. palm trees yet to be ridden by disease, an olive duster dress with yellow floral print had started to trail behind her. It hesitated for a moment before deciding to glide along next to her. Michelle had seen it in her periphery but didn’t think anything of it until it started to frantically flail its sleeves around to call her attention. 

“Am I really this tired already? It’s only been a mile!” she thought to herself as she continued along the path.

She looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the dress floating alongside her. It appeared to be imperceptible to the other runners and bystanders (a likely result of their preoccupations with their respective Fitbits and paramours). Slowing her pace, she took a better look at the dress. It was older; you didn’t need to have a vintage aficionado tell you that. At first glance you could tell that it had experienced more than someone twice Michelle’s age, including an attack by moths to the left thigh. Michelle surmised that it was at least seventy or eighty years old. She couldn’t figure out why, but it felt familiar to her – and that distant familiarity kept her attention.

Suddenly reality set in and Michelle processed the objective truth. She was interacting with a flying muumuu. In complete disbelief, Michelle shook her head and told herself that this is what she got for breaking her routine. She blamed the rain and wanted to air out her own grievances with Anitun Tabu.

The dress floated effortlessly in front of her, blocking her from continuing her route. She reached out to touch the garment and it pulled back to dodge the attempt. It turned away from the lake, due south towards Temple Street, and prompted her to follow.

Michelle, determined not to have her overdue personal therapy session disrupted by a ghost of a garment, turned around and started running in the opposite direction. The persistent pajama would not have it, and as soon as it had made its way in front of her it held its position, forcing her to run into it face-first. The dress disoriented her and turned her back around. It prompted her to follow again, this time with more urgency.  

Michelle sighed, realizing that her resolve was not as strong as she had thought. As she ran to tail the authoritative dress, she decided, “I am definitely looking into getting a therapist of my own again tomorrow.”