GREAT CHIP x
(Autistic author)
Chip flinched, his eyes wide
with fear as the toaster bounced off
the fridge, landing on the floor with
a clatter. "Dad, please," he begged,
his voice trembling. "You're scaring me."
"Good," Plankton says. "Then maybe you'll
understand that this isn't a joke!" He
picks up another object, a jar of jellyfish
jelly, and hurls it across the room.
It explodes on the wall, the sticky
substance oozing down like a rainbow
of pain.
Karen steps closer, her voice calm
but firm. "Plankton, enough," she says,
her eyes never leaving his. "This isn't helping
anyone."
Plankton's antennae quiver, his
body still shaking with anger. "How
can you say that?" he says, his voice
shaking the room. "How can you sit there
and act like everything's fine, when your
'son' thinks he can just 'fix' me?"
Chip felt his heart plummet, the
weight of his father's anger a heavy
rock in his chest. "Dad, I never said..."
he began, but Plankton talked over him.
"You think you can just waltz in here
and tell me what I need?" His antennae
thrashed wildly. "You don't know
anything about..."
Suddenly, Chip's frustration boiled
over, the words leaving his mouth before
he could stop them. "You're right," he spat.
"I don't know what it's like to be a failure
who can't even take care of himself! I don't
know what it's like to be so weak that you
have to hide behind your condition! I don't
know what it's like to be unlovable and
broken!"
Karen's eyes went
wide with disbelief,
her heart aching
for her husband, as
Chip's harsh words
echoed through the room.
The room fell silent, the
sting of Chip's accusation
lingering in the air like
a noxious fume.
Plankton's antennae
drooped, his body
slumping slightly. "Fine,"
he said, his voice
devoid of emotion. "If that's
what you think, then I guess
I don't need you."
The words hung in the
air, heavier than the
shattered mug at their feet.
Chip felt as if he'd been
punched in the gut, the
breath knocked out of him.
"Dad," he whispered, his voice
cracking. "I didn't mean..."
But Plankton was already
turning away, his antennae
drooping as he shuffled towards
his workshop. The slamming
of the door reverberated through
the house, leaving only the
steady drip of jellyfish jelly
to break the silence.
Karen looked at Chip, her eyes
swimming with unshed tears. She
could see the regret etched on his
face, the pain of his own words
reflecting back at him.
"Chip," she said gently, her voice
trembling with held-back sobs. "You didn't
mean that." It was a statement, not
a question, but her eyes searched his
for any sign of disagreement.
He looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed
and glossy with unshed tears. "But I don't
know how to help him," he said, his voice
cracking. "I just want to be there for him,
Mom. But he won't let me in."
Karen's expression was a mix of
sadness and anger. She took a deep
breath, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "You
don't help someone by making them feel
smaller," she said, her voice firm. "You
don't fix someone by calling them broken."
Chip's shoulders slumped, his eyes
falling to the floor. "I know," he murmured,
his voice filled with regret. "But he's just...
so... I just wanted to make him feel better."
Karen's gaze was stern, her voice
a gentle rebuke. "And you thought hurting
his feelings would do that?" She sighed heavily,
her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed.
"You have to be more careful, Chip. Your
words are like bombs when you don't understand
how powerful they are."
Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, the weight of
his mother's disappointment crushing him. "But
I just..." he began, his voice trailing off as he
fought to find the right words.
"I know you're trying," Karen said, her voice
softening. "But you can't fix your dad's seizures
with a hug or a joke, sweetie. They're a part of
who he is, and he's scared. And you, calling him
'unlovable'...that's not you, Chip." Her screen searched
his, willing him to understand the gravity of his words.
Chip felt his throat tighten, the weight of his mother's
disappointment heavy on his shoulders. He knew she
was right, that his words had been a knee-jerk reaction
to Plankton's outburst, but the pain in his father's
eye lingered, a stark reminder of the hurt he'd caused.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he murmured, his voice barely audible
above the sound of his own breathing.
Karen's face softened, the anger in her eyes
giving way to a sadness that was even more
heartbreaking. She reached out, placing a gentle
hand on Chip's shoulder. "I know you didn't mean
it, honey," she said, her voice quivering. "But you have
to understand that words can cut deeper than any weapon.
And I always love your father, no matter what. That's what
you need to do too."
Chip felt his eyes sting with the truth of her words.
He knew she was right, but the anger and frustration
he'd felt in the moment had overridden his usual
compassion. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the weight
of his apology feeling heavier than any burden he'd ever
carried. "I just..."
"Sorry isn't enough," Karen said, her voice
trembling with a mix of sadness and anger. "You hurt
your father, deeply. And you hurt me." Her hand
slid from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake.
Chip's eyes snapped up to meet hers,
his own filled with a blend of shock and
remorse. "I didn't mean it," he said, his voice
small and lost. "I just..."
Karen's expression was a thundercloud
of disappointment. "You didn't mean it?"
she echoed. "But you said it, Chip. And those
words are like a knife in the heart, and you
know his amplified emotional response is part
of his condition. How do you think that makes
him feel when he's already so sensitive?"
Chip's eyes dropped to the floor,
his cheeks burning with shame. "I know,"
he whispered, his voice tight with regret. "I just...
I didn't know how else to help, he's..."
"Chip, you're old enough to understand
that sometimes, there's nothing you can do
to take someone's pain away," Karen said, her voice
firm yet filled with sadness. "But you can't make
it worse. You have to be there for him, without
making it about you."
Her words hit Chip like a slap in the face,
his cheeks burning with the sting of truth.
He'd never thought about it that way before,
his own hurt feelings overshadowing the gravity
of his father's condition. "But what can I do?"
he asked, his voice small and defeated.
Karen took a deep breath, her eyes still
full of sadness. "You can listen," she said,
enunciating each word carefully. "You can be
there for him without expecting anything in return.
You can respect his boundaries and understand
that sometimes, he just needs space."
Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. "But I want to
make it better," he said, his voice small. "I don't
want him to feel like he's alone."
Karen's eyes searched his, her expression
softening. "I know you do," she said gently.
"But you can't fix everything, and you can't
make his condition go away. Sometimes, the
best thing you can do is just be there."
Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing.
How could he be there for his father without
causing more harm? The silence in the kitchen
was deafening, the only sound the distant
hum of Plankton's workshop. Karen's voice
was a gentle guide in the quiet, her words
sinking into his soul like a warm embrace.