Skin and Out

Story Sent in by Chad:

Helen and I met while I was actually seeing someone else. I was shopping online for a gift, a satchel, for my then-current girlfriend. Helen had a few handmade products up on Etsy, I found a bag with a great design, and I purchased it from her. Turned out, she lived in the same county that I did. She wrote me a very grateful thank-you message, and I wrote her back once I had received the satchel she had made. I was impressed with the materials and quality of design. And so even after I gave it to my girlfriend, Helen and I maintained a decent correspondence, back and forth, talking about everything and anything.

Some months later, I was out of the relationship, and my messages to Helen became more frequent and more flirtatious. It progressed to me asking her out, and so we wound up at dinner.

She had been pretty chatty over the Internet (she told me that she didn't like talking by phone) but in person, she seemed quiet and nervous. Well, so was I. We talked back and forth for a while about this and that, and I finally engaged her on the topic of her crafts.

That opened her up. She talked about handbags, shoes, vests, hats, and so on. She was very interested in making her own designs, and I was glad that she finally seemed to feel comfortable.

She was talking about projects on which she had worked when she said, "Sewing human skin is a bit of a challenge if you don't time it right: too thin or too brittle, depending on how long you wait."

I was sure I had misheard her. "Sewing what?"

She replied, "Human skin. It's pliable and very soft, but you really have to take care of the material, otherwise it'll–"

"You've sewn with human skin?"

She laughed. "Not all the time. Just once, and it didn't come out well. I don't think I'd show it to you. It's brittle. Next time, I know what to do."

"How did you come by human skin? Did you use your own?"

"Ha! No. Of course not. Those are just some... trade secrets."

Dreading the answer (really, any answer), I asked, "What did you make out of it?"

She seemed at this point to realize that the conversation had taken an unpleasant turn, at least for me, and so it looked like she was again socially shutting down. Her eyes darted around and she leaned back in her seat. She muttered an answer, I asked her to repeat it, and she said, louder, "A coin purse. It was small. I didn't harvest very much."

Just a little was enough for me. I asked for the check pretty quickly thereafter. Maybe it was wrong of me to call it quits, but her admission coupled with her quiet, evasive demeanor convinced me that there wouldn't be a second date.