Happy Harrison #4

Kathleen had been in Amsterdam just over a year. She was a financial analyst doing a lengthy consult with a major European telecom firm. And she was just a little repulsed by the hash bars and all the other Americans she ran into. Maybe it was embarrassment on their behalf. Or maybe it was because she just didn't like getting high anymore. Either way, the idealistic young woman that she had been on arrival now wallowed in a general disgust with humanity.

She had had a rough week and was breaking her rule about doing the tourist thing this evening. Taking in the city a bit should have taken her mind off matters, but the frustration that had been building with her job had recently reached an overwhelming level. The sun had set and a mist was forming as Kathleen came to the canal district. And she realized that she was miserable. Trapped.

There really wasn't any other way to look at what she was doing. Cooking the books. On some level it was liberating to recognize her denial for what it was and to be mortified by it. But she couldn't figure out how to relieve herself of the guilt that was now developing. You just didn't walk away from seven figures, you just didn't. But still. This would ultimately be destructive, and it was illegal after all.

A dime. It almost escaped her attention laying there on the sidewalk until she realized it was out of context. She stopped and peered down at it. Yes, that was indeed an American dime. Nothing entirely out of the ordinary, but it did give her a moment to pause, to look around and reflect. And realize that she was standing directly in front of the Anne Frank house. How odd. It was one of the tourist destinations that she actually had her heart set on seeing months ago but had subsequently become so loath of crowds and lines that she couldn't put herself through the wait to get in.

The building looked so different in the dim wash of street light. With the fog thickening and the lines missing. There was a glow about it. The street was quiet. She looked back and forth and saw that it was even empty. Glancing back up at the building, she pictured herself standing in that upper room that she had still never seen. And a wave of relief washed over her. Finally.

She was not trapped. Not in such a literal way. She felt more than a little silly about herself when she thought of the Franks' fear in that attic of anticipation. How they waited and waited and how their salvation was never complete. And yet that little girl had the capacity to hope. Kathleen was ashamed. She was only trapping herself.

Non-disclosure agreements be damned. She didn't have to say a word to anyone, she didn't have to make any promises, but she had every right to march in on Monday and throw down her letter of resignation. They might sue. But what could they take from her if she un-trapped herself? From her money. From her culture, from her expectations, from her dishonesty.

Kathleen looked down at the shiny little coin. She smiled. And kept walking.