An old woman in kimono weakly trotted into the cover of the bus stop. Her white hair was too short to be tied, but her complexion made her seem younger. Her skin was smooth—thin though it was on her face. She pulled a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and wiped the rain from her forehead and small nose. 

“Dreadful rain.” She chuckled from within her chest. It was a deep chuckle without much exhalation but the words themselves. 

“It’s not so bad.” I replied, looking forward as I gripped my schoolbag to my shoulder. 

The old woman looked me up and down with thin eyes and smile. The rain started while I was waiting, so my new uniform was dry. It looked the same as it had that morning when I unfolded it and marveled at the starched skirt pleats and white shirt fabric. Even the little black buttons of the jacket were near mirror-polished. I could barely move my limbs for fear of creasing the pristine fabrics. So stiff had I gone about my day that Akiyama-san, my teacher, said I should stop trying to look like a Lady. 

“Ah, so that’s what they wear now.” The old woman sighed. “My daughter wore longer skirts when she was your age. I sent her to a nice school, you know, because I went to university when they still made girls wear hakama. I would have liked to wear a skirt. When I was your age, that is, you know, I’m much too old now for all of that!” 

She started to laugh with a higher pitch, less buried in her lungs. 

“My older sister worked at a factory school, she had to wear monpe. I thought she looked like a man, and I hated it.” I remembered wishing the war would end so I would never have to go to school—so I would avoid the inevitability of those farmer’s pants. 

“Yes, my late daughter also wore those. She worked at a factory in Shizuoka.” 

The rain echoed in my head like the static of a radio after air raid sirens. Before I could apologize the bus pulled up and the brakes squealed. The old woman nodded to me with her thin smile and stepped onto the bus. Gripping my bag, I stood still while the door closed and it vanished into the afternoon storm.   

“I’m just the worst.” 

I tried to imagine my sister in her monpe, and stepped out into the rain.