Potential

The glass windows turned black and then burst open, embers drifted down from the sill and scattered onto the grass. The sound was so much louder than he thought it would be; a deep and hollow roar that reverberated in his eardrums. Flames engulfed the wooden sign, ‘Montgomery Primary’ until its words were not visible. The building was falling apart, bit by bit. The heat was intense, well beyond anything he had ever experienced before. For a second, he almost regretted it. He stood still watching his masterpiece, and then he smiled. He was a success.

He looked towards the horizon but did not move, waiting in eager anticipation. He could almost hear the sound of the sirens coming for him. These sirens would be just for him. A car pulled up across the street. Instead of the burly men in blue suits that he hoped for, a pale, fragile woman looked out her window at him. Her eyes were familiar. She held his glance. Her eyes sent him a message, one that he had heard many times before.

* * *

Tom ran across the rough wooden floor into the kitchen and saw his mother swaying in her rocking chair. Digger sat in her arms, purring in time with the chair’s creaking. “You best be getting some breakfast into you before you go anywhere,” she said.
“Mama, I have to go now! Ralph will be up already.”
She looked at his little face and bright pleading eyes. “Grab some food before you go, then.”

Tom ran along the hall, tripping over the dirty rug before jumping down the stairs and sprinting across the road. Ralph was waiting for him on his front steps; three large boxes were sitting behind him. Ralph caught Tom’s curious glance in the direction of the boxes. “Mama reckons I ought’a unpack those before I go off anywheres,” said Ralph as his clear blue eyes wandered down the street. “How ‘bout I race ya though. Mama will never know.” Ralph started running.

He had quite a head start, but Tom leapt forward. The sound of his bare feet on the hard bitumen drove him on. The wind swept over his face and his clothes fluttered against his skin. As he passed Ralph, his feet ached with pain but his mind willed him on.

Tom had never won anything before, and he knew this trivial race meant nothing, but for once he had beaten someone. “I won all the races back home in the South,” Ralph said. Tom smiled, he didn’t really care. Apparently, a lot of things were different in the South. The way Ralph talked about it, it seemed like a really great place – Tom’s mother and father didn’t talk about it in that way though. Ralph interrupted Tom’s train of thought.
“I oughta get back and finish unpacking.”
“Wanna race to your house?” asked Tom.
“Naa…”
“Are ya scared you’re gonna lose again?”
“No. I just feel like walking now,” said Ralph.

The boys took their time, laughing as they passed a rotund, old woman with her hair in curlers sitting on a deck chair in her yard. She waved at the boys, almost dropping the hose that she was using to water her garden.

Tom left Ralph and ran back over to his house. Tom’s mother was just as he left her – even Digger was still purring contently in her arms.
“Mama I raced Ralph and beat him by a mile!” Tom cried.
“Oh Tom, I’m very proud of you.”
“I will make the school track team for sure.”
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, boy – you can’t join the track team. It’s not our place to race against people like Ralph; especially not beat them. I don’t want you to race boys like him again, okay?”
“But why?”

Tom ran out of the house, across the street and back to Ralph’s house. He was going to join the track team, no matter what she said. He rang the doorbell. It sounded crisp and clean. He listened as footsteps drew near and the door clicked open.
“Hiya Mam. Can Ralph come out and race?”
Ralph heard Tom’s voice and appeared in the door way. “Hiya Tom, I’m gonna beat you this time. You got lucky before.” Ralph pushed past his mother and started out down the front stairs.
Ralph’s mother looked Tom right in the eye. “Ralph, come in right now. You need to finish unpacking your things. Say goodbye to the boy.”
“Ralph,” she said again, “say goodbye to that boy.”
Ralph hesitated for a second and then walked up the steps and past his mother. Before closing the door she held Tom’s glance for a moment. To him her eyes were unfamiliar. They communicated words Tom had never heard before. Slowly he turned to cross the street.

Not wanting to go home, or to go anywhere in particular, Tom sat down on the gutter opposite Ralph’s house. He knew that he was much too old to cry over something so silly, so he held back the urge.

Tom looked up at Ralph’s house. He couldn’t help but notice that it was at least twice the size of his own. He glanced at a window, and saw a face. It was Ralph. Tom ran towards him. “Ralph! Wait.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“What?”
“I can’t play anymore.”
“But why?”

Ralph shook his head and closed the window, disappearing out of sight. Tom kicked the dirt. He was becoming increasingly frustrated. The urge to cry overcame him.

* * *

“To be clear, Mr Samuels, where exactly were you on the night of the 18th of June last year?”
Tom sat up straight in his seat and turned to face the jury. “I was at home, Sir.”
“Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts on that night?”
“I was at home, alone.”
“Please answer the question, Mr Samuels. Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts?”
“Well, no Sir.”
“Very well Mr Samuels.”
He turned his gaze from Tom, scanned the courtroom, and then rested it upon the pale-faced jury.
“Your honour, Mr Samuels has provided no alibi or reasonable explanation regarding his location on the night in question. The prosecution rests its case.”
With an air of resignation, the judge lowered his gavel. “Court adjourned, pending verdict.”

Tom looked down at the floor, with his face in his hands. It might have only been minutes before the jury returned, but it seemed like an age to him. Finally, they filed back in to the room, taking their seats.
The room quickly hushed, and the foreman stood, nodding at the judge.

“Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”
“Yes, we have your honour.”
“What say you?”
“On the charges of arson laid against Mr Thomas Samuels, we find the defendant guilty.”

Arson. Defendant. Guilty. Those words echoed in Tom’s mind, but there was a message that echoed even louder. Tom noticed that every member of the jury was giving him the same condescending look. Their eyes were familiar. They spoke judging words that he had heard many times before.Tom knew that he had lived up to his potential; he had completely fulfilled their expectations. Mr Thomas Samuels was a typical black kid.