A Leaking Faucet (Jobie-Short Story)

     The springs on the pull-out couch bed creaked under the rustling lump utop it. A restless Jobie fumbled to get comfortable under the tight sheets that hugged him to the bed, feeling that the three men surrounding him were being incredibly selfish. Both Rory and Gene had pulled the thick quilt closer to themselves, pressing both Ace and Jobie against the thin mattress as hostages.

     Deep slow breathing indicated to Jobie how alone he was. The three other men weighed the mattress down beside him, sinking Jobie into the springs. Gene would rumble just slightly with each slow inhale, his broad chest vibrating right beside Jobie’s head as he’d snore. Ace had gentle shallow breaths, cold air from his nose brushing Jobie’s neck despite the warmth that his arm around Jobie’s chest provided. Rory had a slight wheeze to his breath when he slept, and oftentimes Jobie liked to sit on his chest and lean in to listen even if i would stir Rory awake. This time around though, Rory was far too distant for him to hear a thing. For all Jobie knew, he was dead.

     The restlessness that forced Jobie’s mind awake was not the company of warm bodies. It was the ticking of that damn clock. From the moment the boy had awoken, the click of the hand making its journey around the clock had grown in the room. It echoed, each tick pressing into Jobie’s ears over Gene’s rumbling and over the squeak of bed springs. With every jut of the clock hand, the short click got louder.

     Why would they even need a clock? Jobie was exceptional at guessing the time of day, being a rather intelligent individual. Infact, they never even asked him what time of day it was. If he were to slip out of bed and rip the clock hands off, no one would notice.

     Ace might, but if Jobie suddenly got very quiet when Ace began to ask questions then he’d eventually stop asking. Then Gene would suggest getting a new clock, and Rory would make some absurd comment about telling time with the sun, as though that were possible. It was really a wonder that they survived so long without Jobie, they were rather lucky to have him around.

     Filled with a concerning amount of ambition and confidence, Jobie suddenly sat up from the rusty springed pull-out bed. He kept his gaze to his left as he fumbled to stand, the ticking coming from the left side of the home. His confidence outweighed the actual balance he had, Ace receiving a step on the shoulder and Rory getting a panicked grab at his hair before there came a thud.

     “Jobie…” Ace’s groggy voice muttered, though his soft breaths soon continued again.

      The boy however did not hear Ace, far too focused on the black space in front of him. He stood and began to reach his hands out, blindly searching for the wall. The carpet pressed under his feet with each step, careful and steady as he felt an excitement rise. Snapping the hands from the clock would silence it, and surely the others would be thankful for Jobie wasting his valuable sleep to bring peace to the home. A job well done, like usual.

     His fingertips bumped the starchy wallpaper, then began to slide against it as he searched. He could not see the hourglass patterns of dark oranges and cream that were familiar to him against the wall, he could only feel the sandy texture running against the pads of his fingers. Each tick guided his hands up as he stepped to the side, the clock teasing him as to where it was hiding. It was up, no more down, actually a bit to the left, or maybe in the middle again.

     Oh, they didn't have a clock, that's right. It was never ticking, it was…

     Jobie glanced towards the kitchen.

     It was a leaky faucet. It had never been ticking at all actually, it was the harsh drip of a cold water droplet slamming against the metal bottom of the sink. That's what it had always been, Jobie was just mistaken.

     The soft shuffle of carpet turned to taps as Jobie’s feet met the chilled night tiles in the kitchen. Gene’s rumbles were far more distant now, and the shifting that creaked the springs as Ace rose couldn't be heard by the younger lad.

     Who on earth left the sink on? Jobie approached and reached out, feeling around the slicked metal before finding the familiar handle and giving it a firm press. Yet, the persistent dripping did not cease.

     His heart skipped as a frustration rose in his body, his hand finding the faucet to cup it and silence the droplets. He could feel the damp crusted faucet pressed against his skin, yet another drop hit the metal. Then another.

     “Mm.” He whined anxiously, pressing his hand harder in hopes of results.

     “What is it?” Asked a tired voice.

     Jobie’s heart jumped as his body did, his eyes gazing out to the silhouette that peered into the entrance of the kitchen. He didn't recognize Ace at first with his tight curls tucked into a bonnet, but the body language of a thin cold man eased him. Poor Ace still breathed deeply through his nose, his body not yet awake.

     “The drains leaking.” Jobie mumbled back.

     “What?”

     “The drain. Is leaking.”

     “Oh… is it? The faucet you mean?” Ace questioned, nearing Jobie to blindly feel for the faucet. He instead found Jobies hand firmly cupped over it, and gave the lad’s hand a friendly squeeze. “Are you sure? Can I see?”
    “It is.” Jobie insisted. “Listen.”

     “Okay…”

     Jobie stared up at the dark shadow in front of him, watching for a reaction as he awaited for another drop to fall. Yet, as it did Ace only stared back at him. He was hearing it too, surely.

     “Stop breathing.” Jobie muttered, feeling that the heavy breaths may be disrupting the sound.

     Ace only stared down at him, his larger hand still cupping under Jobie’s as the two listened to the constant droplets of water that dripped to the bottom of the sink.

     “See?” Jobie murmured.

     “...Yea. Is that why you’re up?”

     “Yes. It is actually.”

     “Well, I think Gene has some ear plugs. I’ll tell Gene to fix the sink in the morning.”
     “I’ll fix it.” Jobie insisted, mindlessly puffing his chest just slightly.

     “Okay, but I bet the leak will stop by tomorrow morning.”