KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12
(Autistic author)
They sit in
companionable silence,
the only sound Plankton's
soft snores. Karen's eyes
never leave his face,
her thoughts a tumult
of fear and hope.
Sandy watches
them both, her mind racing
with questions and
concerns. "What does
this mean for him?" she
asks, her voice barely
above a whisper.
"It means his world is
different now," Karen
explains, her screen
never leaving Plankton's
sleeping form. "He'll have
his moments, but we'll
find a new normal."
Sandy nods, trying to
picture what that would
look like. "But can
he still...you know,
talk, interact?"
"It's not like that," Karen
sighs, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "He's
not nonverbal. It's just
that sometimes his brain
can't keep up with the
world around him. The
sounds, the lights, the
colorsâit's too much."
Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "I can
see that," she says
thoughtfully. "But he'll
still be the same person,
right?"
Karen looks at her,
her expression a mix of
sorrow and hope. "He'll
always be Plankton," she
says, her voice firm. "But his
autism has changed the way
he experiences life. He'll
see patterns where we
see chaos, hear symphonies
where we only hear noise."
Sandy nods, trying to
wrap her head around the
concept. "What about his
memories?" she asks, her
voice tentative. "Does he
still remember us,
his life before?"
Karen looks at her
softly. "Yes," she says,
her voice filled with
reassurance.
"But his short-term
memory might be affected."
Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton.
"How long will it take
for him to...to get
better?" she asks, her
voice hopeful.
Karen's gaze falls to her
hands, clutched in her
lap. "There isn't a
cure," she says, her voice
a whisper. "But we can
help him manage, make his
life more comfortable."
Sandy's eyes are
glassy with unshed
tears. "What can I do?"
she asks, her voice
desperate. "What can any of
us do?"
Karen takes a deep
breath. "You can
learn with us," she says,
her voice strong. "You
can support him, love
him, be patient."
Sandy nods, her eyes
filled with a newfound
resolve. "I want to help,"
she says, her voice
steady. "But what about
his plans, his schemes?"
Karen looks at her, her
expression a mix of
sorrow and a ghost of a
smile. "Those might
have to take a backseat
for a while. His mind
has to heal."
Sandy nods, her eyes
never leaving Plankton.
"I can handle that," she
says, her voice filled with
determination. "But what
about the Krabby Patty
formula?"
Karen looks at her,
her expression a mix of
understanding and
sorrow. "We'll have to
see," she says, her voice
soft. "For now, let's
focus on getting him
comfortable, okay?"
Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "Okay,"
she whispers, her voice
full of resolve. "We'll
figure it out."
Karen nods, her smile
small but genuine. "Thank
you," she says, her voice
filled with gratitude.
"It's going to be a tough
adjustment for all of us."
Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "We'll
make it work," she says, her
voice firm. "But what happens
if he has another...episode?"
Karen sighs, her screen
slightly glazed with fear. "We
just have to be there," she
says, her voice shaky. "We'll
learn his triggers, his
comforts."
Sandy nods, her
mind racing with
concern. "But what if
it's in public?"
"We'll handle it," Karen
interrupts, her tone firm.
"We'll have strategies,
routines. It won't be easy,
but we'll manage."
Sandy sniffles, her voice
now a sob. "What if he..."
But Karen cuts her off, her
eyes on Plankton, who's
started to stir in his sleep.
His antennae twitches,
his body shifting under the
covers.
Slowly, Plankton's eye opens,
his gaze unfocused.
The room is a blur of
patterns and colors,
but Karen's voice is a
steady beat in the cacophony.
"Hey, sweetheart," she whispers,
her hand brushing his
cheek gently. "You're okay."
Plankton's antennae twitch
sluggishly, his body
unwinding from the tight
coil of sleep. "Home," he
mumbles, his voice thick
with sleep.
Karen's eyes are
on him, a silent vigil
against the chaos of
his mind. "You're
safe," she whispers, her
voice the calm to his
storm. "You're home with
me."
Plankton's gaze
sharpens slightly,
his antennae moving in
tiny, precise
patterns. "Karen," he
whispers, his voice
like a distant echo.
Karen leans in closer,
her heart racing. "Yes, love?"
she asks, her voice
soothing.
Plankton's antennae
wave in the air, as if
trying to capture the
right words. "Need...Karen,"
he whispers, his eye
searching hers.
Karen nods, her smile
gentle. "I'm here," she says,
her voice a warm
embrace. "Always."
Plankton's antennae
cease their frantic
movements, then
he notices Sandy.
"Hi, Plankton," Sandy
whispers, her voice soft.