Saying I can't doesn't mean it won't.

From Alfred’s journal

The boy from the yellow house spent the whole afternoon on the sidewalk with a bicycle too big for him, announcing to his mother through the screen door that he could not do it. Then he did it, badly, wobbling past the mailbox and into the Hendersons' hedge, and he did not seem to notice he had contradicted himself. I used to think a person saying I can't was reporting on the world, the way I report that a feeder is empty. It is not a report. Saying I can't doesn't mean it won't. He said it eleven times by my count, and the eleventh was from somewhere down the block with his feet off the pedals. The mother never came out. I think she had heard this particular forecast before.