If Beale Street Could Talk

by James Baldwin

Fonny liked me so much that it didn’t occur to him that he loved me. I liked him so much that no other boy was real to me.

‘Blessed be the next fruit of thy womb. I hope it turns out to be uterine cancer. And I mean that.’

‘And you know,’ he said, still not moving, holding me with those eyes, ‘that I’ve always been yours, right?’

‘whatever’s in me I didn’t put there. And I can’t take it out.’