Last Exit to Avalon

The story follows Anna, who picks up a hitchhiker named Lance. Despite his rough appearance, he seems friendly, but there is a mysterious air about him. He talks about love, loss, and his life's journey, encouraging Anna to discover other paths.

Anna hadn't wanted to go on the trip, but she couldn't think of any reason not to. Now, at the ungodly hour of the morning that it was, she was sitting behind the wheel of her car, driving to visit her mother again. She tried hard to let her thoughts wander, but they kept returning to Marianne's last birthday. She had always thought of her mother as Marianne; it was a way of keeping her at a distance. Distance from Marianne was always necessary.

Anna was one of three daughters, and she was the one who had made it furthest. 'Made it' referred to distance, not career. Anna wrote children's books, which her mother dismissed as childish scribblings. Her sisters, Karen and Margot, were wives and mothers by profession. Marianne greatly appreciated their successful husbands, especially since she had worn out several of her own. The sisters and their children lived in the same city as their mother. Anna was the odd one out: being single, childless and working.

Anyway. Her mother's last birthday, her 62nd, turned out to be a disaster in Anna's memory. Not that she envied her two sisters for their families. Their husbands were so similar that they could have been twins. They had put on a little weight over the years, had receding hairlines, and wore expensive frames for their glasses. The women looked much the same, too – they had chic yet understated hairstyles, well-rounded figures and unobtrusively elegant clothing. Looking at them didn't hurt, but listening to them did. They were five against one, and Anna still didn't fit in any more than she did back then. She had tousled, rather short hair and hardly wore any make-up. She usually wore jeans and a jumper because it was more practical. Anna made a tiny concession for Marianne, wearing linen trousers and slippers. This had to suffice – but of course it didn't.

Mum opened the present – a very expensive cashmere scarf – and then started nagging Anna about her clothes. Then her favourite song came on: 'Why is my youngest daughter such a failure?' Anna repeatedly tried – and hated herself for it – to explain to her mother that getting married and having children was certainly fine, but not for her. She loved children – after all, she wrote stories for them – but she had never wanted any of her own. This had nothing to do with the fact that she loved women. It was about responsibility and her own childhood.

If Marianne asked her today if 'there was finally someone in her life', she could answer 'no' with a clear conscience. She and Hella had broken up two months ago. It still bloody hurt, but Anna had accepted that she couldn't change things. In previous years, she had lied when she visited her mother. She talked about 'acquaintances' and avoided using the word 'boyfriend'. Marianne knew nothing about Hella, nor about Petra and Frauke. Anna had filed those relationships away somewhere in her mind.

The truth was that Anna despised herself for her cowardice. She hated her unholy fear of how Marianne would react if she ever told her why having a husband and children was out of the question. God, she couldn't even manage to stay away from this birthday party. She could have thought of a thousand more important things to do. She didn't WANT to go, but somehow her autopilot was connected to Marianne, forcing her to drive there. 'Silly idea', thought Anna, taking her foot off the accelerator. She didn't need to arrive any faster than necessary.

Then she saw him – standing casually on the hard shoulder without even sticking out his thumb. There was something about him that made her stop the car and open the passenger door.

She could hear her mother's voice in her head, ranting about picking up a hitchhiker – she would have been shocked by this immensely. If she had seen this one, she would have been extremely shocked. The man was middle-aged, with shoulder-length dark hair streaked with white. He was wearing jeans, boots, a sturdy jacket, and carrying a duffel bag. To Marianne, this was the attire of a criminal.

The man thanked her politely and looked Anna squarely in the eye. His face was friendly, though by no means handsome or attractive. 'He must have had bad acne', she thought, noting the many small white scars adorning his cheeks. His nose appeared to have been broken at some point and his mouth was slightly crooked. Nevertheless, the guy didn't make a bad impression, perhaps because of his grey, dreamy eyes.

Then he began to speak. His English wasn't bad, just a little old-fashioned. Maybe he had learnt it that way in England when he was younger. But Anna noticed that there was something strange about his accent. She loved England and had often spent her holidays there. The way he pronounced certain words sounded different, but pleasant nonetheless. He introduced himself as Lance and said that he had just returned from a quest.

Had she misheard him, or had he really used the word 'quest'? In any case, he was on his way home. Then he asked her where she was going. Without knowing why she was doing so, Anna told him about herself, Marianne, Hella, and her fear and anger.

'How does she have power over you?', he asked. Then he laughed and laughed. He laughed a lot. He thought Anna's stories were hilarious, but when she told him about Hella, he put his hand on her arm and nodded seriously. Then he started talking about love, and Anna listened. She didn't understand everything, but she gathered that it was about a woman he had adored, loved and been obsessed with throughout his life, losing and regaining her time and again. Anna wasn't sure if it was the same woman, but that didn't really matter. It was simply a story of searching and finding, of losing and finding again. Then they talked about goals, and Lance smiled. He didn't have goals, he had tasks. Those were the things he took care of, and had been doing so for a very long time.

Anna felt a little dizzy. It wasn't to the extent that it made driving difficult, but the man next to her seemed increasingly 'out of this world' to her. He seemed to find things easy. He had smiled incredulously when she said that she didn't really want to go to Marianne's. She hadn't missed his barely noticeable shake of the head. When she told him about her fear of finally coming clean to her mother about her relationships, he furrowed his brow.

'Why is it important?', he asked, looking at Anna curiously. 'It's your love. It doesn't affect her.' He said it so simply that Anna actually asked herself why it might be important. She didn't HAVE to tell her mother, because her mother didn't want to know. Yet it was Anna who WANTED to tell her, in a strange way. Even though she knew she wouldn't be able to. As she thought this, she heard her passenger ask: 'Why are you going there? She's not waiting for you.' Anna was astonished to find that he was right. Marianne was only waiting for the confrontation, not her daughter.

'Come with me for a while', Lance said, looking Anna in the eyes. 'I'll show you other ways, other stories and...', he winked at her, '...other women. You won't find them here, but you have a lot in common. You're a warrior, but you don't know it.' He then told her about his life, his homeland, and how he had decided to travel ALL the worlds. Anna then turned the car around and drove according to the safe instructions that Lancelot from the Lake had given her.

© 'Last Exit to Avalon': A modern story of Lancelot from the Lake by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 03/2026. Image credit: Winfried Brumma (Pressenet).