NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT ii
(Autistic author)
With Plankton's condition still
fresh in her mind, Karen carefully
guided him out of the hospital and
into the car. She knew the drive
back to the Chum Bucket would be
a test, but she was determined
to make it as smooth as possible.
The car's engine rumbled to life,
and she pulled out onto the wet
streets of Bikini Bottom,
fixed on the road ahead.
Plankton was quieter than
usual, his gaze out the window,
taking in the world with a new
perspective. Karen spoke gently,
describing the sights they passed,
hoping the familiarity would
comfort him. "Look, Plankton," she
pointed. "There's the jellyfish
field. Do you remember when we
used to get chased by jellyfish?"
His eye swiveled to meet hers,
the ghost of a smile playing on
his lips. "Remember," he said,
his voice still mechanical. "Plankton
remember jellyfish."
It wasn't just the repetition anymore;
he was connecting with her, with
the world around him. It was a start,
a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could
find their way through this new, uncharted
territory.
Plankton's head lolled slightly to
the side as the car bumped along the
road, his breathing steady and even.
Karen watched him out of the corner
of her screen, the rhythmic motion of his
chest reassuring her that he was still
with her. Despite the turmoil of emotions
churning inside her, she felt a strange
peace settle over her. For the first time
since the accident, she allowed herself
to believe that they could navigate this
new reality together.
The rain had picked up, the drops
splattering against the windshield like a
symphony of tiny drums. The wipers
kept a steady beat, matching the rhythm
of her racing thoughts. Plankton's hand
was still in hers, but it was limp now,
his palm open and trusting. She
squeezed it gently, trying to convey all
the words she couldn't say.
The Chum Bucket loomed in the
distance, a beacon of their shared past
and the uncertain future ahead. As they
neared, Karen noticed the lights flickering
in the lab, the remnants of their latest
failed scheme. The sight brought a
pang of sadness, but also a strange sense
of nostalgia.
Karen's grip on the steering
wheel tightened. "We're almost there," she
said, her voice a lifeline thrown into the
silence.
As the Chum Bucket came into view,
Plankton's antennas twitched
in his sleep.
"We're home," Karen murmured, her
voice barely above the patter of the
rain. She parked the car and took
a moment to collect herself before
gently waking him. "Plankton, sweetie,
we're here."
His eye fluttered open, and he
looked around the car with a
slightly dazed expression. The
neon lights of the Chum Bucket cast
a warm glow, and Karen watched
as the reality of their situation
settled into his gaze.
"Home," he said, the word
falling out of his mouth like a
puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
He sat up slowly, his movements
stiff and deliberate, as if every
action was a calculation.
Karen helped him out of the
car, the rain now a steady
shower, plinking against
the metal of the Chum Bucket.
"Come on," she said softly,
guiding him inside. "Let's get
you into bed." Plankton
followed her obediently, his
footsteps echoing in the stillness.
The lab was a mess, but
Karen ignored it, leading him
to their tiny living quarters.
The space was cluttered with
gadgets and gizmos, but there
was a warmth to it, a
testament to their life together.
Plankton's eye scanned the
room, taking in every detail,
his brain trying to process the
overwhelming stimuli. Karen
noticed the way he flinched at the
brightness of the lights and
quickly dimmed them, creating a
soothing ambiance.
"Better?" she asked, her voice
soft. Plankton nodded, his
movements more deliberate
now. He seemed to be focusing
intently on her, trying to piece
together the world around him.
Karen helped him into their
small, cozy bed, the blankets
familiar and comforting. As
she tucked him in, she noticed
his eye fixate on a book
on the floor. "It's ok," she
whispered, plucking it up and
placing it on the nightstand. "We can
clean up tomorrow."
Plankton lay still, his gaze
now on the ceiling, tracing the
patterns of the tiles above.
Karen sat beside him, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "Is there
anything you need?" she asked,
her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet.
"Need... to... understand," he
repeated, the words a comforting
mantra in the silence. Karen
nodded, stroking his antennae.
"I'll be here to help you, Plankton."
The doctor's words replayed in
her head. Autism wasn't a
weakness, but a different way
of experiencing the world. A
world now filled with sensory
overload for Plankton. She
made a mental note to dim the
lab lights and reduce noise levels.
"Karen," he said, the word a
question. "What... happened?"
The palilalia had shifted from
a mere repetition to a quest for
knowledge. Karen took a deep
breath. "You had an accident,
Plankton," she explained, her
voice calm and steady. "But we're
going to figure this out together."
Plankton's gaze remained fixed
on the ceiling, his eye
flitting from tile to tile as if
the answers lay in their pattern.
"Accident," he murmured, the word
tumbling through his thoughts.
Karen nodded, her heart heavy
with the weight of the truth. "Yes,
my love. You had an accident.
But we're here now, and we're
going to get through this."
Plankton's eye searched hers,
his voice a metronome of
uncertainty. "Get... through...
this." The words hung in the
air, a question wrapped in a
statement. "Through... this."
Karen ached as she
nodded, her voice a gentle
caress. "Yes, Plankton. Together."
Her hand reached out to
cover his, her touch a silent
promise. "We'll face each day
as it comes."
For a long moment, Plankton
was silent, his gaze still
trapped by the ceiling tiles.
Then, his eye swiveled back to her,
his voice a whisper of curiosity.
"Together," he echoed, the word
now a declaration. "We'll get
through this together."
Karen felt a tear slide down
as she nodded, her
smile a fragile thing. "Yes, Plankton,
we will." She leaned in and kissed
his cheek, his skin cool and clammy
against her lips. His antennae twitched,
and she knew he felt the warmth of
her affection, even if he couldn't
express it in the way she was used to.
The next day dawned with
a gentle glow, the sun peeking
through the blinds of the Chum
Bucket's living quarters. Karen
woke up with a start, the events
of the previous day crashing over
her like a wave. For a brief
moment, she allowed herself to
hope it was all just a terrible
dream. But the sight of Plankton's
still form beside her, his breathing
steady but different, brought
reality back in a rush.
They had a routine to
maintain, a life to live despite
the monumental shift in their
world. Karen slipped out of bed,
careful not to disturb him, and
began the day's tasks. She knew
that Plankton would wake soon,
his mind likely already racing.
The lab was a chaos of wires
and gadgets, but she had a plan.
Starting with the lights, she
adjusted each one to a gentle
glow, reducing the visual assault
that could overwhelm him. Then,
she moved on to the sounds,
taping foam pads to the doors
and machines to muffle the cacophony.
It was a small change, but it
was a step to making the
environment more comfortable for
his now sensitive senses.
Karen knew the kitchen would
be the next battleground. Plankton's
love for the Krabby Patty had always
been a source of both frustration
and motivation. But now, the
thought of the complex flavors
and textures could be a sensory
nightmare for him. She decided
to start with simple, plain foods,
things she knew he enjoyed before
his tastes had become so singular.
As she sliced a cucumber into
thin, uniform pieces, she heard
his footsteps approaching. The
tap-tap-tap of his feet on
the metal floor was a sound she
could set her clock to, yet now it
seemed foreign, a reminder of the
autistic world he now inhabited.
"Good morning," Karen called out,
forcing cheer into her voice.
Plankton's eye swiveled towards
her, his movements jerky as he
navigated the now-familiar space.
"Good... morning," he responded,
each word a deliberate choice.
Karen placed the cucumber slices
on a plate and slid it towards
him, watching as his gaze
flitted from one to the next,
studying them before making a
selection. The sight was both
heartbreaking and fascinating, a
window into his new reality.
As they sat together at their
tiny kitchen table, Plankton took a
small, tentative bite, his face
scrunching up as he chewed.
Karen held her breath, waiting
for his reaction. After a long
moment, he nodded. "Good," he
said simply, his voice still flat.
Karen swelled with
pride and sadness.
It was a small victory, but it was
a victory nonetheless. They would
find their way through this, one
bite at a time.