13

Bjorn knew all too well what the haunting recurring dreams were all about. The symbolism was rather obvious, and the lack of motion in this latest one did not change the message all that much. He was lost, and he knew it all too well. And pushing this awareness back and down while awake did not stop his subconscious from presenting him with the plain facts at night.

However, the dreams had become less regular after his decision to join the newly established Lundby border guards, and he had hoped that the dreams would go away completely now that he had reached his destination. Taking part in this great social project, engineered by the smartest minds in the country to protect ordinary Norwegians from the many criminals who abuse the asylum seeker system, was at least purposeful if not exactly a great career move.

Bjorn had arrived at his destination, but he was still lost. This was not what he had imagined his life to become way back when he, full of optimism, had married his beautiful girlfriend after having found himself a well paid job as an engineer. All his dreams had come to nothing. His painting, as it were, had fallen apart. The dream was simply his subconscious presenting him with the plain facts.

But there was no point in dwelling on the past. If his dreams were telling him anything, it was to move on and get over it. Being away from Oslo, with its constant reminders of his failures, was at least a step in the right direction. However, he had no idea what the next step might be. He had not thought this whole thing properly through, and now that he had finally arrived at the check point, he felt lost again.

Not wanting to be confronted with his much younger colleagues in the communal bathroom, and feeling eager to do something, anything, to shake off the feeling of having hit some sort of dead end, Bjorn got up and headed for the showers. Going there at an odd hour, he suspected correctly that he would have the place to himself so that he did not have to socialize as he got himself ready for the day.

Feeling a good deal better after a warm shower, he brushed his teeth in front of the large mirror covering the wall, next to the door, above four wash basins lined up next to each other. Bjorn scrutinized himself critically as he stood there, thinking that he was not the worst looking forty something guy on the planet. A little over weight, maybe, but big and strong, and certainly not anyone a tiny little Asian refugee would want to mess with. And with a well trimmed beard covering his somewhat puffy face, he could even be confused for a bit of a bad ass macho, given a more forgiving lighting.