I found a bus route that took me almost directly to my training site. I had to get up earlier, but even with the fare, I spent less time than driving back and forth from Indiana.

The best revelation was how empty the bus was. Sure, there were other riders, but there were plenty of spaces to sit. I could review my training notebook so I'd be more than ready to teach my client how to operate the fully automated machine I installed.

This isn't sarcasm. Every fully automated machine needs manual attention. I had to show them where to lubricate it monthly, how to inspect for damage, and how to replace the valves when they eventually wear out.

I know I sounded a little salty about the training session, but that was mostly because of Friday.

Monday through Wednesday were just with the mechanical team, the people who maintain the system. Thursday added the operators, the ones who manage the machines that supply or retrieve the heat. I look forward to each of those first four days.

That should have been enough, but management insisted on an all-hands recap: safety protocols, evacuation drills, and long-term maintenance plans.

They do this for every machine on the factory floor, so I shouldn't be annoyed. But mine isn't operated. It's automated.

With the shortcut to Indiana, even Friday was almost pleasant. Almost. My stomach stayed tight all day, knowing that tonight I'd see Cassie again.

Still, it went well, and I made rather decent money to help fund more portals.

More portals? Of course I would need more portals. This apartment is only for 2 weeks, but I am hoping to find a way to place portals in other cities I often travel to. Even perhaps getting a closet-size apartment in San Francisco not far from Cassie. I don't need a kitchen, as I have one in Boston. I even have a decent bathtub and a shower.

I would say that I have all my clothes at home, but I can't send them via a portal. Hence a closet-size apartment: enough place for a portal and a closet.

The evening of the show, after finishing the training, I am restless. I keep moving back and forth between Boston and Indiana because I can't stay in one place.

I can't even work on my TCP/IP control system for my main portal, as I did it Tuesday evening. I even managed to make my own Android app on Wednesday. Now, I was ready.

But I've gone to sound checks before, and I learned it just takes away from the time I get with Cassie after the show.

Cassie might be a star, and she might have done hundreds of shows, but she still gets stage fright. When I see her at the sound check, she is happy to see me, but she can't be there for me. She is working.

It's like that weekend she spent at my apartment when I had to work on an express project for a client. She was there to see me, but I couldn't be there for her. Not fully. I think it frustrated me even more than her. We still ate great meals and goofed around laughing, but my mind wasn't fully on our time together.

Still, it made me realize how being at the sound check felt the same for her. When I am focused, I can barely follow a conversation. Cassie, though, barely shows it in her body language. In fact, if you don't know her as well as I do, you won't even notice.

Cassie is very empathetic, but when she's stressed, it fades a little. Not enough to disappear, just enough that I can tell.

The worst part is that if I use up that first moment after a break to talk to her while she's distracted, the conversation after the show feels stale. Like the rush from seeing each other again is gone, replaced by the steady calm of our friendship.

Like that weekend I was working. She'd sit on the couch, smiling while she hummed a song and watched me work. That, I think, is what real friendship feels like. I hope it's what being a couple feels like too. Just being there for one another without complication. Without a Glitter Girl quizzing you about her favorite restaurant. I should use her real name. It's in a notebook somewhere. I want to say Lisa? I'll check when I get back, if I remember to check. Oh, and don't think I forgot a sexual partner. We didn't make it that far. We just dated.

I had worried my car had been towed or stolen during the week until I remembered I'd installed my own anti-theft device, and I was parked in a designated parking space for my temporary apartment.

I got dressed and scouted the way to the Ruoff Music Center. To my surprise, the concert venue is not even in Indianapolis but in Noblesville, just out of town. My ticket includes VIP parking, but it's still too early to get in the venue.

I decide to go on a walk. Just across from the venue is a small high-technology hub. A centrifuge company, GE Medical, and a manufacturer of medical-grade temperature-controlled storage.

I know that the USA is distributed when it comes to technology, manufacturing, and research. Yet, it always surprises me when I see it up close.

I lose many potential clients because I'm not local. It's not just that they prefer face-to-face meetings. It's also that they rely on quick responses during emergencies.

My client I trained this week? They like that in an emergency, I can be there in less than an hour. Could I do the same with other clients thanks to my portals?

I end up in a Japanese steakhouse for an early light supper to help count down the clock until the sound check would be over. My stomach is in a knot, like each time I am about to see Cassie. Fortunately, it's just a metaphor, and I can finish my meal. It was a small meal.

The walk back to the venue feels longer and harder. It's because Cassie isn't the only one with some sort of stage fright. My fear, however, is being in her presence.

This is where I feel like life is weird. Cassie and I are best friends. We have been since before kindergarten. When I am with her, everything is easier. And I know she feels the same way, as she told me. Multiple times.

But on stage? That's not Cassie. That's Cassie. The word is the same, but now everyone uses it, and it feels like something private I lost. Right. Cassie isn't her full name. Her parents called her Cassandra, but I couldn't pronounce her full name as a kid, and she was unable to pronounce mine.

I became Ernie in her mouth, and she became Cassie in my mouth. We kept it up as they were our private nicknames. Some of our elementary school friends used them. It always felt like the names were on loan, a little like those friends were in our circle but never really part of it.

Later, my friends mostly called me Ern, and in college, Fern for some reason. Cassie, however, mainly used Cassandra as a teen. She introduced herself that way and always wrote her name like that. Her inner circle, apart from me, mostly called her Cass, which I always hated.

When her music career picked up, it was her producer who gave her the stage name "Cassie," and she rolled with it. But it's not the same. My nickname from her came from a childhood innocent affection. His stage name for her came from a capitalistic urge to appeal to young people.

I make it to the gate. There are already people in line, many of whom were holding signs or the stupid plush from her tour. Fine, I don't think it's stupid, but Cassie thinks it is. She fails to see the relevance of it but appreciates the revenue it brings.

My personal issue is that for a music video, she asked me to design for her a robot plush. The video was set on a space station, and the song was about how she was sad about being so far away from home. I had a ton of fun, and I even put inside it a microphone and motors so its lips and the light in its eyes could follow along with the music. I still made it mostly a plush toy, soft enough that Cassie told me she sometimes sleeps with it.

It was a hit, but most people assumed it was CGI, and instead of making my plush the mascot, the producer created his own.

I got to the front of the line. Only one father complained that I was skipping the line, but I ignored him. We each have assigned seats; the order in which we get in doesn't matter at all.

When I reached the front gate, outside the security rope, I asked if the sound check was completed.

"It is"

I showed my ticket and was allowed inside, with the front people jealous but no one complaining.

I was checked a few more times on the way to the venue hall and quickly found my seat. Front row, perfect center.

I see two drums on the stage, one with Cassie's name and the other with the name of a band I don't recognize. They would be the first act. I google them on my phone and discover that they are a local boy band. To my surprise, they actually play instruments but still sing typical boy band ballads.

I wonder if Jerry or Samuel will play the drums. Cassie has a regular band for touring, but Jerry, who plays for the album, doesn't like to be away from his baby girl. Samuel often substitutes for him.

Cassie prefers Jerry, while I like Samuel more, but I don't have to practice with them. I just hang backstage, so my experience with them is limited.

I listen to a few songs of the boy band but soon grow tired of them. It's super commercial and very bland.

It takes another hour for the audience to fill in, a teenage girl on my left, another on my right. Each with another teenage girl next to them, and then, a parent. A father on the left, a mother on the right.

In one case, I wondered if they were sisters. In the other, their different races made it clear they were friends. Or perhaps one was adopted.

I saw 3 plushes, but my surprise was that the mother had one. All my neighbors wore various Cassie t-shirts or, in one case, a vest too.

As the room filled up, I realized that more security appeared in the small corridor between the front row and the actual stage. I saw people with flowers to throw on stage. Sometimes, I even get some for my apartment when too many are thrown. I often donate them to Mrs. Paterson. She likes those things.

The first act eventually arrives, with a surprisingly good reaction from the crowd. It appears they only have local notoriety. Since most of the people in the venue are from the area, I guess they know them?

The lights eventually go down, and quite a few people start applauding and whistling. I know it's only the first act, but my neighbors don't seem to realize that as they get in place.

They get all excited, but when the first act starts playing, they sit down again, looking a little sad or annoyed.

They play for about 40 minutes with varying levels of quality of songs.

I will say one thing in their favor. Their songs sound nothing like the album version, and it rehabilitates them in my eyes. It's like their producers wanted to tame them, and on stage, they let out all of their energy.

I don't need to imagine it. I lived it. Cassie was fine-tuning one of her songs at my place while I was working on a project. It was one of her earlier projects, for her first album. In case you want to know, it's "Unmade Bed," and the title was to tease me that I tend to forget to make my bed in the morning. It's not fully my fault, as I get out of my bed before checking my list of things to do for the day.

The song itself isn't about me. Instead, it's about a breakup Cassie didn't experience. She told me many times she never actually dated a guy. In all cases, the song she composed in my lab was highly emotional, tugging at every fiber of anyone with a living heart. She composed it on her acoustic guitar, but it would have worked perfectly on the electric guitar Susan played on the album.

The problem was the producer, who turned the soul-filled song into a generic power ballad, stripping it of its emotional core.

Now, you know why it's usually her encore song and why it sounds so different from the album version. She plays it on her acoustic guitar until the first chorus, fully emotional, filled with tears from the audience. When the hook begins, Susan lowers from the ceiling on a harness and adds her own riff, drawn from the pain of her violent ex-boyfriend. It's only later that the drummer inserts himself into the song, soon before the bassist.

That's still not the version from my apartment. Only the first chorus is. The rest is the emotional pain from the band.

I am crying during the local band's final ballad. I am not the only one, as they managed to capture the crowd just as they were about to leave. But I didn't really hear that song. In my mind, I was listening to Cassie's "Unmade Bed."

The curtain closed on the band after they thanked everyone and explained they would be at their merch table after the show.

There was a pause, and my heart began to skip. My skin began to tingle. I could almost feel my hair stand up. Cassie was only a few feet from me. It would calm down, but after a few weeks without her? It felt intoxicating.

The curtain barely opened, and only Susan, with her guitar, emerged from the gap. This is new. The audience is yelling, but I can feel some confusion.

Cassie's show became a well-oiled machine, and a change was added. Weird.

On the 3rd note from the solo guitar, I recognize the song. Friendship. It's the only one partly composed by Susan, and I realize why the change was made.

This weekend marks the third anniversary of Cassie discovering Susan in the New York subway. Susan was homeless and playing for tips. Cassie saw something in her and brought her into the band.

I wouldn't say it was an easy process, but Susan blossomed, and this song was a gift from Cassie to commemorate Susan's growth as a person.

She let Susan pick the subject, and everything she wanted to express was about her friendship with Cassie. It's a beautiful, emotional, and touching song. It's also the most mature song, in my opinion, of all of Cassie's catalog. Honestly, it even contains clear progression, all the lyrics make sense, and it feels like a more traditional pop ballad song than most of Cassie's originals.

The crowd sings along, but it never gets as much of a reaction as Cassie's typical songs. Odd, I prefer this one to most of her other songs.

For the chorus, the curtain opens and the band, including Cassie, is revealed, all wearing matching outfits to Susan. The band joins her, and I notice that Jerry is at the drums.

Cassie sings the chorus, harmonizing with Susan, and that gets the crowd wild! The girls beside me are almost in a trance, watching their role model from only a few feet away.

When the song ends, it transitions to Dollars, one of her earlier songs. It also has a more traditional structure, but still a mostly weird chorus. The crowd knows all the lyrics, and often, Cassie points the microphone to the crowd and lets them sing.

Once completed, she talks to the crowd and mentions how happy she is to be on stage with them to spend the next 2 hours in their company.

Two large beach balls are thrown on stage, and the spotlights follow them.

"Is it time for the beach already?"

And the crowd goes wild again. When the spotlights return to the stage, Cassie, Susan, and Katie, the bassist, are all wearing bikinis, and "Dakota Surf Envie" begins to play. God, Cassie is so hot!

It's a great summer song from last summer, which topped the chart and is just as nonsensical as her other songs. It's about a teenage girl who waits for the perfect wave in the middle of North Dakota, a landlocked state.

I can see that the girls next to me seem to follow the simple choreography, despite not being able to really move from their seat.

The beat is catchy. It's just...OK, fine, in an interview, she admitted that the song was about looking for love in all the wrong places. About someone who complains about not getting what they want but not doing the efforts to achieve their goals.

I can understand that from the interview, but never from the song itself.

They, of course, transition to "Beach Parties," which is apparently about the futility of not really connecting with others and only focusing on the fun parts of life.

After a quick costume change, the show goes on, with several other changes. Overall, I count 21 costume changes from Cassie, 12 from Susan, and 9 from Katie. Only Jerry, behind his drums, doesn't change costumes. When Samuel fills in, he usually does.

The crowd is wild. They almost form a single voice when singing. I can almost feel them in Cassie's hands as she signs.

She does a cover from Olivia Rodrigo and another from Pink, which are appreciated, but they seem to mostly offer a pause in the intensity from the crowd. Personally? I always liked how Cassie can appropriate songs and make them hers.

Her climax, with some fireworks, is, of course, her biggest hit, "Cardboard Tigers," which is about how toxic people appear menacing but are superficial and unable to connect. Or something like that. I've heard people claim it was the clearest anti-bullying song ever made, while others said it would be the next child abuse awareness song, but also that it was rather about domestic violence. I talked to Cassie about it, and it's all about her childhood neighbor, Mr. Jackson, who would complain about everything. Not that she would ever admit it in public. I never understood why her songs that made the least sense seemed to hit the hardest.

The encore was Unmade Bed, and I swear that she was looking at me a lot more than during the rest of the show. Granted, the light on the stage was dimmed to simulate a bedroom, with an unmade bed pushed on the stage. Perhaps she could finally see me? She did explain that the floodlights make it almost impossible to see the crowd.

Near the end, she sat on the edge of the stage, with her feet balancing on the beat, only 3 feet in front of me. I could look at her straight in the eyes. She was singing and smiling. My neighbors were singing along with her, and I was smiling back.

This was heaven.