CATCH IN MY CHIP viii
(Autistic author)
The room is bathed in a soft
moonlight, the shadows playing
across Plankton's sleeping features. His
body, once taut with tension,
has relaxed into the embrace
of the bed, his arm curled
around a pillow. His antennas
now rest gently on the
pillowcase, no longer quivering
with agitation.
Karen watches him sleep, her
thoughts a jumble of worry and
love. She knows he's tired, that the
weight of the world can be too
much for him to bear at times. But
she also knows that he's strong,
that he'll face tomorrow with
determination.
The first light of dawn filters
through the curtains, painting the
room in soft shades of pink and
orange. Karen gently squeezes his
shoulder before standing, her eyes
never leaving his peaceful face.
She knows that today will be a
day of apologies and
understanding, of teaching Chip
about his dad's autism and how to
navigate the world around him.
With a soft sigh, she heads to
Chip's room, her footsteps silent
on the cool floor. She opens the door
to find him sitting up in bed,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He looks at her.
"Is Dad okay?" he asks, his
voice thick with sleep and the
remnants of his earlier distress.
Karen nods, her eyes filled
with a quiet determination. "We'll
talk to him when he wakes up."
The words hang in the air, a gentle
reminder of the conversation that
needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. He clutches
his pillow, the fabric damp from
his tears.
"But what do I do?" he asks, his
voice small and scared. "How do
I make sure I don't make him
upset again?"
Karen sits on the edge of the bed,
her hand stroking his. "You
just keep being you, Chip," she
says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves
you, and we'll learn together how
to make sure he doesn't get
overwhelmed."
Chip nods, his eyes searching
hers for reassurance. "But what
about my trophy?" he asks, his
voice still shaky.
Karen's hand stops, her gaze
dropping to the shard of plastic
he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll
fix it," she says, her voice
filled with conviction. "Together."
The promise brings a small
smile to Chip's face, his eyes
lighting up. "Really?"
Karen nods, her own smile
genuine. "Of course, honey,"
she says. "We're a family. We
stick together."
With that, she stands up, her
body weary but her spirit
resolute. The room feels
lighter somehow, the air less
charged with tension.
Chip clambers out of bed, his
small hand reaching for hers.
Together, they walk to the
bedroom, the shattered
remnants of the trophy
glinting in the early light.
Plankton is still asleep,
his chest rising and falling in
a steady rhythm. Chip
looks at him, his eyes filled
with a mix of sadness and
curiosity.
"We'll talk to him when he
wakes up," Karen says, her voice
soft.
They sit beside Plankton's
bed, the room still and quiet.
Chip's hand trembles slightly as
he holds the broken piece
of trophy. "But what if he's still
mad?" he whispers, his voice
barely above the silence.
Karen's hand squeezes his.
"He'll understand," she says,
her voice filled with a calm
certainty. "He loves you, and he
knows you didn't mean to hurt
him."
The words are a gentle balm
to Chip's fears, but the doubt
lingers. He nods, his gaze
never leaving his father.
"Remember, Chip," Karen says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's
brain is different."
Chip nods, his eyes fixed on
his dad's sleeping form. He's
seen Plankton stressed before,
but never like this. He wants to
show him love.
With tentative steps, he moves
closer to the bed, his heart
beating a staccato in his chest.
He reaches out, his hand shaking
slightly as he hovers it over
his dad's arm.
"Chip," Karen whispers, her hand
covering his. "Remember, gentle."
Her words are a gentle
reminder of the invisible lines
that can be crossed.
Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's
peaceful face. He takes a deep
breath, his hand steadying. Slowly,
so slowly it's almost imperceptible,
he brings his palm to rest
on Plankton's forearm, his touch
as light as a feather.
Plankton's body tenses for a
moment, a reflexive reaction to
the sudden contact. Chip holds
his breath, waiting, hoping.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels
his dad's arm relax under his hand.
"It's okay," Karen whispers, her
voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay."
Chip's hand remains hovering, his
heart in his throat. Plankton's
body remains still, his breathing
even. Karen's touch is a guide,
her hand resting on Chip's.
"It's okay," she whispers, her voice
a soft encouragement. "You can
do it."
With a deep breath, Chip's hand
descends, his fingertips brushing
against Plankton's arm.
Plankton's antennas twitch.
Karen watches, her eyes never
leaving her husband's face.
Chip's hand hovers, his
heart racing. He wants to
reassure his dad, to let him
know he's there. He's
learned about space and
understanding, but all he
can think of is the warmth of
his touch, the comfort
he craves to give.
His fingertips graze Plankton's
arm, the contact so light it's
barely there. He watches,
waiting for a reaction, for a
sign that he's crossed the line.
But Plankton remains still,
his breathing unchanged.
Encouraged, Chip presses down
slightly, his hand a soft
weight on his father's arm.
He feels the warmth of his
skin, the steady pulse beneath.
It's a tentative connection,
fragile as spider silk.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
but his body remains still.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest,
his breaths shallow and quick.
He's afraid to move, afraid
to break the spell.
Karen watches, her eyes
filled with a quiet hope.
The air in the room is thick
with anticipation.
Chip's hand hovers over
Plankton's arm, trembling
slightly with nerves and
love. He's unsure if this
small gesture will be met
with anger or acceptance.
Karen's gaze is a silent
cheer, urging him on. Plankton's
breaths remain steady, his body
still. Chip's heart is a
drum in his chest, each beat
a silent plea for
understanding.
With a tremble, he lets his hand
settle, his fingertips barely
grazing the fabric of the blanket.
He feels the heat of Plankton's skin,
the rise and fall of his chest.
It's a gentle touch, the lightest
of caresses.
Karen's hand remains on his,
guiding him, encouraging him.
Plankton's breaths remain steady,
his body still. Chip's eyes
are wide with hope, his hand
poised above the blanket.
With a tremble, he lets his
fingers come to rest on the
cotton, feeling the warmth
of his father's arm beneath.
He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction, for any sign
that he's done the right thing.
Plankton's body remains still,
his breathing unchanged.
Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, watching for any
hint of distress. But there's
none. Only the gentle rise
and fall of his chest, a testament
to his deep sleep.
Chip's hand is a butterfly
landing on Plankton's arm, his
fingers fluttering slightly
against the warmth of his
skin. He's never felt so
exposed, so vulnerable. But
his love for his dad is stronger
than his fear.
Karen watches the silent
exchange, her heart in her throat.
The moment feels sacred, a
testament to their growing
understanding of each other.
Chip's hand remains on Plankton's
arm, the warmth of his touch a
promise of comfort and love.
He's afraid to move, afraid to
disrupt the delicate balance.
Karen's hand is a soft presence,
guiding him, giving him
the courage to stay.
Plankton's breaths are slow
and even, his body relaxed.
Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's
in a world where the sensory
overload doesn't exist. His heart
swells with hope, with the
desire to protect his dad from
the world's harshness.
Karen's hand on his is
a gentle reminder that he's not
alone. She gives him a small,
encouraging nod, her eyes filled
with understanding. He takes a
deep breath, his hand moving
slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's.
The moment their skin
touches, it's like a dam breaks.
Chip feels a rush of warmth, a
connection that's been missing.
He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly,
his heart pounding. He's afraid to
move, afraid to breathe too loudly.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, watching for any
sign of distress. But his features
remain relaxed, his antennas
still. The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the only sound their
melded breaths. Chip feels a
lump form in his throat, his eyes
welling with tears.
He whispers, "Thank you," to
his mom, his voice shaky with
emotion. She nods, her hand
still covering his. "Remember,"
she says, her voice a soft
caress. "Gentle."
With trembling fingers, Chip
tucks the blanket closer around
Plankton, the fabric smoothing
over his shoulders. It's a
tiny act of love, a silent
apology. He wants to crawl into
the bed beside him, to wrap
his arms around his dad..
He looks up at Karen, his
eyes pleading. "Can I?"
Karen nods, her smile sad
but understanding. "Just be
careful not to wake him,"
she whispers.
With the grace of a
cat burglar, Chip slides into the
bed, his movements slow and
calculated. He's careful not
to disturb the sheets, not to
make a sound that could break
the tranquil silence.
Plankton's arm is a warm
mound beside him, and he
reaches out tentatively, his
fingers seeking the comfort
of his dad's skin. He finds it,
his hand coming to rest lightly
on the crook of his elbow.
The connection feels right,
like finding a piece of himself
he didn't know was lost.
He snuggles closer, his head
resting on the pillow beside
Plankton's.
Karen watches, her heart
swelling with love for her son.
"It's ok," she whispers. "Just be
gentle."