Saying goodbye to my friends on their recent visit, left a small empty space in my heart. Perhaps in the shape of a school, I thought. Because that’s where we first met. Where we first started to learn about each other. Behind books, buses and bleachers, we came together, with all of our common Minnesota sayings, and our distant uncommon dreams. (As the song says, we carried each other “from crayons to perfume.”) So when I really think about it, they have left a shape indeed, but it will never be empty. It is filled with all that I have seen of them, and they of me. I suppose that’s the risk of loving — to carve out this space for others, and daring it to be filled.

I mention it because it is the only way to describe how I felt after finishing the most recent book by Elizabeth Strout, “Tell me Everything.” This seemingly “hollow” of the final page, is actually filled with the most glorious flawed and fantastic people. Most will ask, “Well, what was it about?” I could no more answer this than if you asked me, “What is it like to have friends?” It is sweet and sad and funny, oh, so bending at the waist funny, and the same exact motion with tears — both with tears, I suppose, if you’re doing it right. All that tenderness. So still, if you need to know what it’s about — I would have to say about a two inch space carved into my heart, in the shape of Maine.

I place the book up on the shelf and think, “I had such a friend.”