The therapist settles himself in his chair and flips open his pad. “So you’re called Dustin?”

He fidgets uncomfortably. “Yeah…that’s me. This chair’s jus’ too little.” He looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I’m jus’ real big, see?”

He smiles. “That’s quite alright. You sit wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Thanks.” He slides down onto the floor to sit. “Better.”

“Now, you’re CB’s other friend?”

“Yup.”

“What would you say his personality is like?”

“ ‘E’s kinda like rocks.”

“Rocks?”

“Yeah. Rocks.”

“How so?”

“Well, ‘e’s cute like a rock. An’ cuddly like a rock. I love rocks, see? But ‘e also stings like a rock, like when 'e falls on your ‘ead.”

“Theoretically or literally?”

“Huh?” He thinks. “Oh! Uh…lit'rally, or whatever. Last year ‘e jumped off th’ top of th’ round’ouse roof an’ landed on me. It was painful. Like a rock. See?”

He is surprised. “Er…I see. He actually jumped off the roof? Onto your head? Does he do this often?”

“Oh, sure. All th’ time. One time ‘e flattened Rusty an’ broke ‘is boiler. Poppa wasn’t ‘appy. Th’ other time ‘e was aiming for a tanker car an’ ‘e missed his mark. You should’ve seen Poppa dive to catch CB before ‘e ‘it the ground. Surprised it didn’t kill ol’ Poppa! ‘E didn’t want CB to be ‘urt, see?” He paused. “Am I sayin’ too much?”

“Actually, you’re being marvelously helpful. So he can be a bit malicious, can he? CB, I mean?”

“Well, I guess so. But ‘e’s jus’ a kid.” He suddenly clamps his mouth shut. “Flat Top told me not to tell you too much. ‘E says you’re bad. An’ CB’s never comin’ to talk to you.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Yeah. But that’s all I’m sayin’. No more.” He sits down and takes out several rocks from his backpack. He starts to stack them on the carpet in front of them.

He watches him. “I’m very interested in your fascination with rocks. And the other truck, Flat Top, he likes bricks. Why is that?”

“Ain’t it obvious? I’m a freight truck. I carry rocks. See?”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Should there be another one?” He scoops up the rocks. “I gotta go soon. CB an’ I came ‘ere with Belle, an’ I don’ want to leave ‘er out there alone with ‘im for long.”

As Dustin says this, a female’s husky voice echoes down the hallway. “CB! NO BOY!!”

There’s a clatter and a high scream and Dustin jumps up. “Gotta go now. Think CB’s injured ‘imself or somethin’.” He hustles on out, followed by the therapist.

The female coach, an attractive yet rusty sleeping car, is holding the little red caboose under her arm. A chair is overturned and the boy is kicking and screaming up a storm. The coached looked as if she were restraining from plummeting him. The caboose had his face pressed against her side, but he could sure shriek! The coach looked towards the therapist and talked over the sounds of the boy’s yells. “Oh hello there. I’m Belle, the Sleepin’ Car. Sorry about the boy. He tried to jump on off the chair. Thinks he’s invincible, this one.”

He just waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Ma’am. Dustin here and I had a nice talk. That’s good enough for today.”

At hearing the voice of the therapist, CB’s screams get louder. “I won’t talk to him! I WON’T! I’ll die if you send me! I’ll GET YOU ALL!!!! YOU’LL BE SORRY!!!!

The coach gives him a little shake. “That’s what you think, boy! Keep talkin’ like that and you can kiss your cozy spot in the yard goodbye! We can’t keep violent trucks around, you know that!”

There is sulky silence from the boy. He kicks down from Belle’s arms, and heads out, refusing to look at the therapist. He smiles. He sees a definite challenge in the boy.

Belle pushes a lock of hair off of her face and smiles wearily at the therapist. He smiles back…she’s pretty good looking! She takes Dustin by the hand. “I’m sure Poppa has already apologized more than anyone could, but I will anyway. Sorry about the boy. Don’t worry…one way or the other, we’ll get him in to talk to you. So when’s the next appointment….?