Previously at 24 College Avenue: After a very eventful summer in Europe as a guide for the “Europe in a Backpack’’ tour company, Josh Williams is returning to State College for fall quarter. . .

“Folks, this your captain speaking. I’m afraid we have a suitcase that matches a passenger who didn’t show up for the flight so we’ll be sitting here at the gate while they remove it from the cargo hold. Then we’ll have some paperwork to fill out here before we’re cleared for takeoff and it looks like it’s going to be a long, long line at the runway. So, it will probably be another hour or two before we’re off the ground. And then we’ve got some strong headwinds that will delay us another 45 minutes or so when we’re in the air. So, all I can suggest is that you sit back and relax because it’s going to be at least 11, maybe 12 hours before we land.’’

Great, Josh thought. @#* % great. He was trapped in the middle seat between a woman with a colicky infant, an Italian with overwhelming body odor, a woman who made Oprah look like Mary-Kate Olsen and a drunk man who was carrying on a loud conversation with the passenger behind him about his six fantasy league teams. He also had a killer hangover from his final night in Europe, his bottle of Orangina had been confiscated by security, he didn’t have anything to read because he left his copy of “Corelli’s Mandolin’’ outside the gate, the in-flight movie was Keanu Reeves in “The Lake House” and now the flight was going to be two hours longer than scheduled. What the hell else could go wrong?

“Excuse me, sir?’’ the obese woman next to him said. “Since we don’t have anything else to do for the next 11 hours, would you mind if I shared my personal relationship with our Lord and saviour?’’ She handed him a thin pamphlet titled, “Jesus Is My Spin Doctor.’’

Josh shook his head and handed back the pamphlet but the woman paid no attention and began to give her testimony anyway. Although he knew it was rude, Josh simply couldn’t take the woman right now and instead pulled out his iPod, put the buds into his ears and selected a song.

“Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home . . .”

He felt a little more relaxed. He couldn’t believe he was listening to Michael Buble but one of the other Europe in a Backpack guides made him listen to it one day, insisting that it would become his theme song. He was right about that. As much as Josh enjoyed his summer – well, except for when his tour bus had been stolen during that whole terror plot – and as fulfilling as it had all been, he identified completely with the lyrics that always reminded him of State College and gave him a lump in the throat the size of a baseball.

“Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I’ve got to go home . . .”

He was wondering how many hours his iPod battery had left when a matronly flight attendant rushed up the aisle and barked at him. “Sir, you’ll have to turn that off. No electronic devices are allowed until we’ve reach an altitude of 10,000 feet.’’

Josh closed his eyes and pushed his head back into the chair rest and swore to himself. “@#* %, @#* %, @#* %.” That did it. The flight now was officially as bad as it could get.

And then the passenger in the seat ahead reclined his backrest until it was almost in Josh’s lap.

# # #

“Step through here, sir.’’

Josh did as the TSA agent instructed, walking through what he expected to be nothing but a typical airport metal detector. To his surprise, things had changed in America since he had departed several months ago. Instead of a simple metal check, he felt a blast of concentrated gas and saw his naked body flash quickly on the TSA officer’s screen. Irritated, Josh had three instant thoughts:

1, When did America become a fascist state?

2, More importantly, had he really gained that many pounds over the summer? Maybe he should have cut back on those Belgian beers, after all.

3, Most importantly, why couldn’t he have been on the same flight back as Nicollette?

Josh hadn’t seen Nicollette, however, since she left in tears after the World Cup final when told that she had tested positive for performance enhancers at her previous track meet. He didn’t believe it – Josh couldn’t imagine Nicollette ever doing anything wrong – but no one else seemed to believe her. Certainly not Magdalena, who was royally pissed when she saw Josh paying such obvious attention to his old housemate. She hadn’t spoken to him until they were well past Dresden on the drive back to Prague.

“What was that gas the machine shot out at me?’’ Josh asked the airport TSA agent. “What are you guys searching for, anyway?’’

“That’s classified information, sir. None of your business.’’

“Classified information? Your machine shoots me with some sort of gas and then takes a photo that shows me naked and it’s none of my business?’’

“Don’t raise your voice, sir.’’

“I’m not raising my voice. I’m just asking a question.’’

“We can have you arrested, sir, if you continue to cause problems.’’

“I’m not causing problems,’’ Josh started, then fortunately realized further questions were pointless. He was exhausted from the 12-hour flight from Amsterdam and anxious to get back to the house at 24 College Avenue but somehow he found the discipline to shut his mouth and raise his hands – slowly, in a non-threatening manner – and then continued through the security and customs clearance. After reaching the end of the line he slipped his shoes back on and looked for his laptop and backpack. They were missing from the conveyor belt. Worried, he glanced around quickly and spotted two TSA agents going through his pack. They were tossing his underwear on the ground and swabbing his computer for any residue of explosives. He hoped they didn’t deem the underwear hazardous material.

He waited impatiently for the agents to finish with his backpack. It had taken him two hours to push, force, squeeze and arrange everything inside the pack at his Amsterdam hotel but by the time the TSA agents were through, he couldn’t get his khakis, his jeans, his Red Devils sweatshirt or his laptop back inside. Angry, he schlepped the pack on his back and gathered up the laptop and clothes in his arms. He stomped away, not realizing that he had left behind his key chain and a handful of change in a plastic container.

“Welcome back to America,’’ he bitched, being careful to say it softly enough that the TSA agents would not overhear (he hoped). “Land of the free.’’

Josh suddenly missed Europe, where everyone seemed so laid-back and reasonable, (particularly when it came to drinking), where crossing a border still was as routine as crossing campus. He had learned more in a summer leading tour groups across Europe than he had in three years at State College.

The problem with our educational system is that we’re asked to write dreary “What I did on my summer vacation’’ essays in grade school and junior high when we don’t do ANYTHING on our summer vacations except sit around and watch TV and play video games. As soon as things get interesting – in other words, when summer break includes booze and sex – teachers stop asking for the essays. And God, what an essay Josh could have written about his summer in Europe.

After the near disastrous start with the stolen bus and the attempted terrorist attack at the World Cup, his job had settled down considerably. He spent the remaining months driving groups around the continent, drinking with passionate French bicycle fans on the crowded roadway snaking up L’Alpe d’Huez, drinking until 3 in the morning and solving the world’s problems at 500-year-old pubs in Oxford, drinking and reciting Seamus Heaney poems and singing U2 songs in Dublin, drinking and gazing slack-jawed at the majesty of Michaelangelo’s David in Florence, drinking and singing beer songs into the night with sausage workers in Luxembourg, drinking and crying with veterans on the beaches of Normandy . . .

And, of course, meeting Magdalena.

# # #

The Prague guide had finally forgiven Josh when they stopped in Dresden for a break on the drive back from Berlin. It was early evening, and as they walked along the Elbe River terrace, the so-called Balcony of Europe, the sun cast a magical glow on the city’s magnificent re-built baroque palaces, churches and state buildings. Josh had read Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse Five’’ in his English lit class and he could not imagine how this gloriously beautiful city had been completely destroyed in the Allied air raids of Feb. 13-14, 1945 that dropped more than 4,000 tons of explosives and created a firestorm that incinerated everything in its path.

“I don’t know whether to feel sick at man’s inhumanity,’’ Josh had told Magdalena as they stared up at the magnificent gold-trimmed Frauenkirche, “or to feel proud that man can rise up from virtually anything to rebuild something like this.’’

“Feel proud,’’ Magdalena replied. “Is always best to feel proud.’’

They had kissed there briefly until she broke it off and smiled at him mysteriously. “What?’’ Josh had asked, but Magdalena only continued to smile and took him by the hand and led him back toward the town.

“Wait,’’ Josh had said when they passed a small souvenir shop. He pointed through the window to a small print of a pair of winged-angels looking up in thought against a background of warm clouds. “I’ve seen this image everywhere here. What is it?’’

“They are Raphael’s angels, yes?’’ Magdalena replied. “They are from his Sistine Madonna painting, housed in the city museum here. They have become, how you say, Dresden’s symbol.’’

“They’re beautiful,’’ Josh said. “I feel like I’ve seen them before here.’’

“Yes, they are everywhere. Even in your Disney movie, ‘Beauty and the Beast.’ When Beast takes Belle into ballroom for the dance, yes? They are on ceiling. Is very clever. And romantic.’’

“Yeah,’’ Josh said. “Maybe that’s it.’’ He pulled out his wallet and handed the shopkeeper a 20 Euro bill. “Das,’’ he said, pointing to a small ceramic pendant and necklace engraved with the angels.

After the purchase was completed, he had placed the necklace over Magdalena’s head and kissed it gently when it came to rest against her chest.

“So that you’ll always remember this evening, no matter where the two of us wind up,’’ he had said. “Promise me you’ll always remember me, won’t you?’’

“Silly,’’ Magdalena said. “Of course I never forget you, Josh.’’ She made her own purchase and handed it to Josh. Then she kissed him again and pressed her body against his.

Hand in hand, they had walked to a youth hostel near the town square and without ever speaking about their decision, checked into a double room. They didn’t even notice the lingering smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies when they opened the door to the room, instead falling against each other on the squeaky bed with the stained thin blanket.

“I love you, Magdalena,’’ Josh said, unbuttoning her jeans.

“Say nothing,’’ she said, pulling off his t-shirt. “Say nothing you do not mean yet.’’

Within moments they were naked and breathing so heavily they could have been cyclists at the end of a Tour stage.

Unfortunately, that’s when Josh realized he did not have a condom.

“Is all right,’’ Magdalena said, licking and blowing into his ear. “Is always tomorrow, yes? Tonight we can satisfy us other ways.’’

The two left the hostel in the middle of the night, driving back to Prague before sunrise. When Josh dropped Magdalena her off for work at the tourist info booth, he promised that they would spend the next week together –and that he would buy condoms, many condoms, hundreds of condoms. But when he checked his email at an internet café, he found a series of messages from Steve Townsend, owner of Europe in a Backpack. The story of the near terrorist attack at the World Cup – and Josh’s role in thwarting it – had been front page news around the world. While Townsend was not pleased Josh had let a bus be stolen under his nose, he was thrilled at the publicity. He also had a new assignment for Josh.

“I need you at the Tour de France immediately, as in yesterday,’’ the message had read. “Got a group of cycling fanatics who want to ride as many stages of the Tour as they can. So quit reading email and get back in that bus NOW and start driving to Cambo-les-Bains. You need to pick them up there on July 12. You’re my sports tour guy. Don’t let me down!’’

July 12? But that was the next day. What about the week he and Magdalena had planned? He couldn’t go. He wouldn’t go.

Magdalena, however, had insisted he obey his boss. “College is expensive in America, yes? You need dollars for tuition, yes? Then is simple, yes? You must go,’’ she said. “And then come back with next tour group. Prague is beautiful. Many tour buses visit, yes? You will be back and we will celebrate Prague style!’’ She pointed to her t-shirt, the one she had worn that morning when Josh first raced into the tour info center in a panic over the stolen bus. “Prague is for Lovers,’’ the shirt read.

“Yes,’’ Josh assured her. “I’ll be back as soon as the Tour de France ends! I’ll insist that I lead every tour we send to Prague.’’

But he did not go back. Prague was the most coveted stop among Europe in a Backpack guides and no one was willing to give it up, even when Josh pleaded for them to do so. He thought about her every hour and they emailed constantly and phoned regularly but the closest they ever got to each other was when Josh got into the driver seat of his tour bus each morning and pulled out the keychain Magdalena had bought him that sublime evening. The one from the souvenir shop in Dresden. The one with the Raphael angels.

# # #

Josh didn’t realize he had left the key chain at the airport until the cab dropped him off at 24 College Avenue. He felt both sick and angry, as if raccoons were trying to claw their way through his stomach lining. How could he be so stupid to leave that keychain behind? Why was their a need for such security checks everywhere? Why hadn’t he had a condom with him that night in Dresden?

Frustration, anger, regret are bad combination but at least he could get inside the house. The front door was unlocked as usual. Josh walked inside and dumped his backpack in the entryway. He pawed frantically through the pack, dumping a summer’s worth of dirty laundry and souvenirs on the floor, hoping desperately that the keychain was there.

It was only after 10 minutes or so of searching that it occurred to Josh that something was different about the house. It looked the same but something was off. Not so much clean – the house could never be that – but vacant.

“Hey, everyone!’’ he shouted. “Europe Boy is back!’’

There was no answer.

Josh peered into the living and dining rooms. There was no one there. He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Empty except for a jar of mustard and some rotting salad. That there was no food wasn’t unusual but that there also was no beer? That was just plain strange.

He left the kitchen and walked up the stairway to the second floor where Katie, Jill, Jenn, Nicollette and Cheryl lived. The doors to their rooms were open and the rooms were empty. True, Katie and Jill had moved out of the house after graduation but he had expected to see Jenn and Cheryl, and maybe even Nicollette. But there was no sign of them.

He hurried out of the house and rushed up the back stairway to the third floor where he, Steve and Higgins lived. His dank, cramped room – the Hobbit Hole – was as he had left it but there was no sign of Higgins. Steve’s room was locked.

“Hey!’’ he shouted. “Where the hell is everyone?’’

He went back down the staircase, taking it two steps at a time. He returned to the front door and was heading for the basement when he almost ran into Danny.

“DAMN, DUDE!! NOBODY TOLD ME YOU WERE BACK!!!”

Danny set down a milk basket filled with video games and hugged Josh. The hug went on a little longer than was comfortable. “IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU, MAN. WE REALLY MISSED YOU AROUND HERE.’’

There was something a little odd about Danny. For one thing, he didn’t smell of beer and body odor. For another, he hadn’t said @#$& or &#@ $ yet. True, he had only spoken four sentences, but still, it was very unlike Danny.

“Where is everyone?’’ Josh asked. “Everybody’s room is empty. What happened?’’

“DUDE, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE. YOU WON’T BELIEVE ALL THE STUFF THAT WENT DOWN. HOLD ON, I GOTTA GET A DRINK FIRST.’’

Josh followed Danny into the kitchen, where to his surprise, his housemate took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. Water instead of beer? Danny? What the hell was going on?

“Danny, what happened here this summer?’’

“OKAY DUDE,’’ Danny replied, leaning against the kitchen counter. “BUT YOU BETTER SIT DOWN FOR THIS.’’ Josh did so, sitting in the kitchen’s rusty folding chair. “READY?’’

Josh nodded.

“FIRST, JENN IS PREGNANT AND GUESS WHO THE FATHER IS!!!’’ He didn’t give Josh time to answer. “IT’S KENAN! YEAH! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?!! GUESS THEY DID IT ONE NIGHT BACK WHEN THAT WHOLE STEROID THING BROKE! AMAZING HUH?’’

Jenn pregnant? His old high school girl friend? Wow. Josh didn’t know what to say.

“Is Jenn OK? Is she going to have it?’’

“YEAH, SHE’S GOING TO HAVE IT. SHE’S PRETTY FAR ALONG NOW BUT I HAVEN’T TALKED TO HER FOR A MONTH OR SO. AS SOON AS HER PARENTS FOUND OUT, THEY MOVED HER OUT OF HERE AND MADE HER MOVE BACK HOME. AND WHEN CHERYL FOUND OUT KENAN WAS THE FATHER, SHE WIGGED OUT AND MOVED OUT, TOO. I GUESS SHE AND NICOLLETTE GOT A PLACE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF CAMPUS!’’

Jenn wasn’t living in the house anymore? She and Cheryl had moved out? And Nicollette, too?

“So that’s why the second floor is empty.’’

“DUDE, THE WHOLE HOUSE IS EMPTY!! WHEN CHERYL MOVED OUT, KENAN DECIDED TO MOVE INTO THE ATHLETE’S DORM FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR! AND AHMED GRAUDATED AND KATIE’S IN THE ARMY OVERSEAS AND JILL IS PLAYING BASKETBALL IN EUROPE ARE GRADUATED AND HIGGINS IS GONE AND STEVE HASN’T GOTTEN BACK FROM HIS INTERNSHIP YET! THE HOUSE IS EMPTY!’’

Josh rubbed his face and shook his head. It was all so much to take in. He had been looking forward to seeing all his friends again and settling back into a routine but now everyone was gone.

“Geez, Danny. I guess it’s just you and me until Steve gets here. How are we going to pay the rent?’’

“SORRY DUDE! THAT’S YOUR WORRY! I’M MOVING OUT. CLEANING MY LIFE UP! NO MORE DRINKING, NO MORE GAMBLING. GONNA BE AN R.A. IN THE DORMS. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? ME, A @#$& R.A.? WHOOPS, SORRY ABOUT THAT. I’M TRYING TO CLEAN UP MY LANGUAGE TOO.’’

Danny took another drink of water and set the glass back down.

“WELL DUDE, GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN BUT I GOTTA GO. THERE’S AN R.A. MEETING IN 15 MINUTES!!’’

Danny gave Josh another hug, picked up his basket and hurried out of the house. Josh followed him to the front porch and watched him leave. Returning to the house, he noticed an envelope lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He picked the envelope up and saw it was from Richard Duvall.

The landlord.

Josh opened the envelope and read the letter inside.

“This notice is to remind you that the rent for 24 College Avenue is now 30 days past due. If payment in the amount of $9,000 for the past month and the current month’s rent is not made by Monday, all residents will be evicted.’’

Great, Josh thought, that’s just @#$& great.

He looked at his pile of clothes in the entryway and felt very, very alone.

This ends “24 College Avenue: Summer Abroad.’’ The next series, “24 College Avenue: A New Hope’’ will start in the next couple weeks.