(Autistic author)
Plankton has autism,
which only he and
Karen know about.
They're able to keep
it a secret, per Plankton's
request, even from
their son Chip.
So when Chip comes
home early from
football, he's surprised
to see his dad staring
at the blank wall as his
mom rubs his back.
"Is everything okay?"
he asks, stepping
into the room.
Plankton's eye
is unfocused,
his body rigid,
like he's stuck in
some invisible vice.
Karen's hand pauses
on his shoulder,
and she turns to
face Chip, her smile
forced. "Yeah, just a
little...spell," she says.
Plankton's absence seizure
has struck without warning.
It's like a silent storm
passing through the room,
leaving no trace except
the vacant look in his eye.
The room seems to
shrink around them
as Chip takes in his
dad's unblinking stare.
He's never seen this.
"Should I get help?"
Chip's voice cracks.
Karen shakes her head
quickly, her eyes
swimming with unshed
tears. "No, it's fine.
Just...give us a
minute." She waves
a hand, trying to
dismiss the concern
that has etched itself
on Chip's features.
But Chip lingers,
his gaze flickering
between his parents.
"What's happening?"
he whispers.
Karen sighs, her
hand dropping to her
side. She looks at
Plankton. "It's
just something your
dad has," she says,
choosing her words
carefully. "It's like
his brain goes on
pause for a bit."
Chip watches as
his dad's chest rises
and falls in a steady
rhythm, the only
indication that he's
still present in the
physical world. "But
what do you mean?"
his eyes search hers
for understanding.
Karen's eyes flit to
Plankton before returning
to Chip's. She takes a
deep breath, bracing
herself. "It's
not dangerous, just a
little scary-looking."
The silence stretches
until it feels like a
rubber band about to
snap. Chip's curiosity
overpowers his fear.
He takes a tentative
step closer.
"Does he know we're
here?" Chip whispers.
"Not really," Karen murmurs,
"But he'll come back to us."
Chip reaches out, a tremor
in his fingertips, and
touches Plankton's arm,
but the seizure doesn't
seem to notice.
"Dad?" Chip whispers,
his voice a soft echo
in the stillness.
Plankton's body remains
stiff as a statue,
his gaze fixed on a
spot somewhere beyond
the wallpaper's pattern.
Karen's hand moves to
cover Chip's, her touch
warm and reassuring.
"It's okay," she whispers
back, "It's part of him.
Don't poke or shake him,
just let it pass."
The seconds tick by,
each one feeling heavier
than the last. Chip's
heart thuds in his chest,
his mind racing with
questions and fear.
He's never seen his
dad like this before,
so...so vulnerable.
As the seizure slowly
releases its grip, Plankton
blinks, his eye refocusing
on the room. He looks
confused, like he's waking
from a deep sleep. Karen's
smile relaxes, the tension
in her shoulders easing.
Plankton turns to her,
his gaze flickering with
recognition before
falling on Chip.
"Chip?" His voice is
raspy.
Karen nods at Chip,
silently urging him to
speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me."
Plankton's expression
shifts. "What...what happened?"
his voice is frail.
Chip opens his mouth,
but Karen steps in
quickly. "You had a little
moment, that's all. Nothing
to worry about," she says, her
tone light. But her hand is
still on Plankton's back,
ready to provide support
if needed.
Plankton's eye darts around,
his hands clenching and unclenching
as if trying to remember
how to interact with the
world again. He notices
Chip's hand reaching out and
flinches slightly, his discomfort
with physical contact clear.
Chip, sensing this, pulls his
hand back, his cheeks flushing.
He's always known his dad was
a bit...different. Quirky.
But he's never seen this side
of him.
"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
soothing as she squeezes Plankton's
hand. "You're okay."
Plankton nods, his mind
slowly untangling from the
cotton wool fog of the seizure.
He looks around the room,
familiar objects snapping back
into focus. His eye lands
on Chip, who's watching him
with a mix of worry and curiosity.
He clears his throat. "Just a...moment.
I'm fine now." He tries to smile,
but it feels awkward and forced.
Chip's eyes don't leave him.
"What was that?"
he asks, his voice still low.
Karen looks at Plankton. It's time.
"Your dad has something
called autism, Chip," she says.
"It's like his brain works in
a special way."
Chip's eyes widen. "What does
that mean?"
Karen sits down beside Plankton,
who's still gathering himself.
"It's like...sometimes, his brain
takes a little break from the world,"
she explains gently, her hand still
on his shoulder. "It can be
overwhelming, with all the sounds,
sights, and people around."
Chip nods slowly, trying
to grasp the concept.
Plankton swallows hard,
his mind racing. He's always
been so careful to hide
this part of himself, not
wanting to be seen as
less than or weird.
But as he looks at Chip,
his heart swells with a mix
of fear and hope. What if
his son can't understand?
What if this changes
everything?
Karen gives him a nod,
encouraging him to go on.
With a deep breath, Plankton
starts to speak. "You know
how sometimes you get really
focused on something and
the world just fades away?"
Chip nods.
"Well, for me, it's like
that," Plankton says, his voice
steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it
without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV
with too many channels playing at once, and it
just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break."
Chip nods, trying to
imagine what that's like.
"Does it hurt?"
Plankton shakes his head.
"Well, it's just...different.
Sometimes I don't realize,
sometimes it's tough."
Chip looks up at him,
his eyes full of questions
and a nascent empathy.
"Can you control..."
"No Chip, I can't
'control' it!" He
snaps back.
"Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers,
meeting his gaze. "He's
not judging you, Plankton."
Plankton takes a deep breath,
his eye fluttering shut. "I know,"
he murmurs, but his tone is
anything but convinced.
Chip's gaze softens, his
fear replaced with a
determined curiosity.
"What's it like?" he asks,
his voice gentle.
Plankton's shoulders rise
and fall with a sigh.
"It's like being in a
little bubble," he says,
his eye distant. "Everything's
far away, muffled. And when
it's over, it's like...like
popping back into reality."
Chip's curiosity grows,
his mind racing with questions.
"But why do you keep it a secret?"
he asks, his voice tentative.
Karen looks to Plankton,
who's still visibly shaken.
"We didn't want it to define you,"
she says softly. "We wanted you
to see him as just your dad,
not as someone with a label."
Plankton nods. "And I didn't
want to be different," he adds,
his voice barely above a whisper.
Chip considers this, his gaze
flitting from his dad to the
ground. "But you are," he says,
his voice earnest. "You're
my dad, even with your..."
He stumbles over the word
"...seizures."
Karen's eyes fill with pride
at her son's acceptance.
Plankton's tension how
ever, heightens at Chip's
description.
"It's not a seizure,"
he corrects, his voice
slightly defensive.
Chip looks confused.
"But it looks like it,"
he says, frowning.
Karen nods. "It's similar,
but not the same," she explains
before Plankton can interject.
"It's part of your dad's autism."
Chip looks at Plankton, his
eyes searching for something
he's never noticed before.
"But why did you keep it
a secret?" he asks again.
Plankton's gaze drifts
to the floor, his voice
soft. "Because people
can be cruel, son," he says,
his words heavy. "They
don't always understand."
Chip nods, his eyes
welling up with tears. "But I
do," he says, his voice
shaking. "I mean, I don't get
it all, but I understand
that you're still you."
Plankton's expression
softens, his fear of
rejection dissipating slightly.
He looks up at Karen,
his gaze filled with
gratitude. She gives him
a small smile, her eyes
telling him it's okay to be
his true self.