“Should we tell her?”
“Yeah. I mean. Yeah.”
As Emily continually attempted to coax the back wheel of the bike onto the wooden rail, the two, young men debated telling her the secret. This twisted rail, built from thin, flat wood (or very likely fiberboard), was coated with chipping white paint and, though it seemed sturdy enough, the boards nailed together were varied in length. This damned twisted rail seemed to be the only way out of this amusement park from hell. The way in which it ascended and plummeted mimicked neighboring roller coasters, but unless one was a young child, those roller coasters would be about as much fun as the zoo on a rainy day in winter when seeing part of an animal, behind branches, in the distance is considered a great success.
Emily had no memory of anything prior to this wooden obstacle and no thought of what was beyond it. Dragging the bicycle to different places on the boards and riding short distances consumed all else.
“Excuse me,” one boy called to her.
“You can't clean the counter if you don't have a sponge,” he said, calmly and with much confidence. She should have been confused, but in this hazy moment questioning the origin of logic would be highly implausible.