COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 6
(Neurodivergent author)
The conversation turns to
their favorite food, and Plankton's
face lights up briefly. "Jellyfish,"
he murmurs, his voice lost in the
noise. Hanna's friends look at him,
puzzled by his quiet confidence.
One of them, Patricia, leans in,
her hand patting Plankton's
back. "That's cool, buddy," she says,
her voice booming. Plankton's body
stiffens, his eye blinking rapidly.
Karen feels his discomfort
like a physical force, a tightening
of the air around them. She
interjects gently, guiding the
conversation away from food,
his favorite topic now a minefield
of potential stress. "So, what
have you all been up to?" she asks,
her voice a lifebuoy in the storm.
Hanna's friends chatter away,
their voices a symphony of laughter
and good cheer. Plankton sits
stiffly, his antennae folded inward
like a turtle's shell. Karen watches him,
ready to jump in if the conversation
starts to spiral. "I went on a
deep-sea dive last week!" exclaims one,
his words a sonic boom to Plankton.
"Ya ever been diving b'fore?"
Karen nods at the storyteller,
interjecting gently. "Plankton's not
much of a swimmer," she says, her voice
a gentle current. "But he loves the
thought of exploring the deep sea."
Her words are a shield, deflecting
the spotlight from his discomfort.
Hanna's friends nod, their smiles
dimming slightly in understanding.
Patricia leans in, her eyes
full of genuine affection. "Aww, Plankton,
you're such a character!" she says,
lightly cupping his cheek and invading
his personal space.
The contact is too much for him.
His body jerks back, antennae stiffening,
his eye wide with panic.
Patricia's hand falls away, her
expression one of shock and confusion.
Karen's heart skips a beat,
but she's ready for this. She's studied,
prepared. "It's ok," she says,
her voice a lighthouse beam in the
sensory storm. "Plankton just needs his space."
The room goes quiet, the waves
of conversation receding like a tide.
They all look at him, their eyes
full of concern, their smiles
now tentative. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body still tense.
Hanna quickly asks, "Is he just tired?"
The lie hangs in the air like a
bubble waiting to pop. Karen's
face tightens, but she nods, playing
along. "Long week," she adds, her voice
as smooth as a polished pebble.
Plankton's gaze locks onto his
hands, his fingers twisting
together like seaweed in a
current. The pressure builds,
each laugh a wave pushing
against the dam of his anxiety.
But Karen is there, her hand
on his back, a gentle reminder
that he's not alone.
The meal is a dance of
flavors and sounds, each bite
of stew a step closer to the
edge of his comfort zone.
Plankton's eye dart around the
table, the conversations swirling
like the soup in his bowl.
Hanna's enthusiastic friends
keep glancing over. They mean well,
but their affection feels like a
wave crashing over him, leaving
his nerves exposed and raw.
The clatter of silverware
and the hum of conversation
form a wall of sound, trapping
his thoughts. He takes a deep
breath, trying to find the
calm in the chaos. Karen's hand
on his back is a comfort,
her touch a gentle reminder
that she's there to help him.
The meal stretches on, each
bite a small victory in the face
of overwhelming stimulation.
Karen's eyes never leave him,
scanning for signs of distress.
She's his compass in a stormy
sea, guiding him through the
unpredictable currents of social
interaction.
As dessert arrives, the chatter
grows louder, the laughter more
boisterous. The candles flicker,
casting a dizzying array of
shadows across the table. Plankton's
hands shake as he lifts his spoon.
Hanna, noticing his discomfort,
reaches out to pat his back. "You okay,
buddy?" she asks, yet her touch
unintentionally sends a shockwave
through Plankton's body.
"Just a little overwhelmed,"
he murmurs, his antennae retreating
even further. Karen's grip on his hand
tightens, her eyes a beacon of calm
in the storm. She whispers, "You're doing
so well, Plankton," her voice a lullaby
against the clamor of the room.
But Patricia, not quite tuned in to
his distress, leans in with a
boisterous laugh, her hand landing
on Plankton's shoulder. The room
spins around him, a tornado of
colors and sounds. "You're just
so cute when you're shy!" she says,
squeezing his cheek. And that's
what did it.
With a gasp, Plankton's body
shudders, a seizure starting to
inevitably take hold. This is
his second meltdown since
the diagnosis, Karen knew.
She gently helps Plankton to the
floor, his body convulsing. Hanna's
friends hover, their faces a canvas
of confusion and fear.
"Everyone, stay calm," Karen
instructs, her voice steady despite
the chaos in her heart. "Give us
some space." She turns her
attention to Plankton, her hands
guiding his body into a safe position.
The room's energy shifts.
Hanna's friends look on, their
laughter replaced by concern.
Patricia's face is a picture of horror.
"PLANKTON‽"
Karen's voice is a lighthouse
beacon in the chaos. "Everyone,
stay back," she says firmly. "He'll be
okay." Her eyes never leave
Plankton's contorted form,
fear and determination melding
into one fierce gaze.
The room goes still, the laughter
choked off like a switch. Hanna's
friends stare, their smiles frozen
like icebergs in the face of
his distress. Karen whispers to him,
her voice a gentle wave. "You're okay,
just breathe." Her hand is on his
forehead, her touch cool and calming.
The seizure subsides, leaving him
limp and panting on the floor,
his antennae drooping like tired
leaves. Karen's heart is racing,
but she forces her voice to be
soothing, her eyes never leaving
his. "It's okay," she repeats,
her mantra a lifeboat in the storm.
Hanna's friends hover, their faces
a canvas of shock and concern.
Patricia's hand is still hovering,
her smile gone, replaced by
a look of horror. "What happened?"
she stammers, her eyes wide with fear.
"It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice
a gentle tide, washing over the
silence. "Plankton just had a
little...mishap."
Hanna's friends exchange worried
glances, their smiles nowhere to be seen.
The room feels colder, the warmth
of their laughter long gone.
Plankton finally opens his eye, the
room swimming back into focus,
still twitching with the aftermath.
Hanna's friends hover, their faces
painted with confusion and concern.
"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
a soft breeze in the storm. "Plankton
just needs some space."
Patricia nods, her smile fading
like a sunset. "I'm so sorry,"
she says, inching closer.
"He's just a little sensitive,"
Karen explains, her voice a lifeline
in the awkward silence.
Patricia's face falls, the horror
of her mistake written clearly.
"I had no idea," she whispers,
her voice a leaf fluttering
in the breeze of their new reality.