NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT
(Autistic author)
"Plankton, look out!"
The warning echoed
through the lab, too
late to prevent the
calamity. Sheldon
Plankton, the infamous
villain and tiny proprietor
of the Chum Bucket,
had been so absorbed in
his latest contraption that
he never saw it coming.
A miscalculation, a misstep
and a metal clank as the
heavy contraption toppled
over. The world around him
spun into a kaleidoscope of
color, and with a sickening
crack, everything went dark.
Panic gripped Karen,
his loyal sidekick and
wife. She rushed to his side,
his body sprawled unnaturally
beneath the twisted metal.
She reached out to gently
shake him. "Plankton!" she
shouted, her voice piercing
the quiet.
His eye remained
closed, unresponsive to
her touch or her cries.
Karen's panic grew,
her mind racing through
possible scenarios.
What if he's seriously hurt?
What if this is the end?
She buckled him in the car
to take him to the Bikini
Bottom Hospital. She held
his hand and drove.
"Plankton, please wake up,"
she murmured, her voice
shaking.
"You've got to be okay,"
Karen continued, her voice
strained. "We still have so
much to do. So much to steal
from the Krabby Patty
secret formula. So much to
prove to Mr. Krabs."
But Plankton lay there,
motionless. The silence was
deafening, broken only by the
hum of the car engine and
the occasional splash from
the wet streets of Bikini
Bottom. Karen's thoughts
spiraled, her usual confidence
in his invincibility shattered.
"Remember when we first
met?" she began, her voice
soft. "You had the biggest
dreams. You said we'd rule
the ocean one day." She
managed a weak laugh, but it
sounded forced, even to her.
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"You swore we'd crack that
Krabby Patty formula," she
continued. "We've
come so close so many times,
and each failure just made
you more determined."
Her voice grew stronger, the
memories fueling her words.
"Do you remember the first
time we tried to sneak into
the Krusty Krab?" she asked,
a hint of nostalgia in her tone.
"You had that ridiculous
disguise?" Despite the dire
situation, she couldn't help but
smile at the memory. "We've
been through so much since
then, Plankton. You've
always found a way to bounce
back, no matter how crazy
the plan or how dire the
outcome."
But Plankton remained still.
"We can't give up now," she
whispered, her voice trembling.
The hospital's cold lights
flickered above them as they
waited for the doctor. The
beeping of machines and the
hushed whispers of nurses
filled the room, but Karen's
thoughts drowned it all out.
The doctor, a stern-looking
fish with spectacles,
entered the room, holding a
clipboard. "Mrs. Plankton," he
began, his tone professional
but gentle. "We've completed the
brain scan on your husband.
The results are..." "Is he
okay?" she finally choked out.
The doctor looked up, his
expression unreadable. "Mr.
Plankton's injuries are...
complex. He's sustained a
brain injury, and
he's developed Autism
Spectrum Disorder."
Karen's grip on Plankton's hand
tightened. "What does that mean?"
she asked, her voice a mix of fear
and hope. The doctor took a deep
breath, choosing his words
carefully. "It means his brain
has been affected in a way that
will change how he perceives and
interacts with the world around
him. It's a spectrum, so the
symptoms can vary widely."
He explained further, detailing the
challenges that lay ahead for
both of them. Plankton might have
difficulties with social
interactions, repetitive behaviors,
and sensory sensitivities. Karen's
mind raced, never leaving Plankton's
still form.
Then, just as the doctor finished,
Plankton's single eyelid began to flutter,
slowly opening to reveal a gaze
that seemed somehow... different.
He looked around the sterile room,
his eye darting from one corner to
another, taking in every detail with an
intensity that was unnerving. Karen's
squeezing his
hand harder. "Plankton?" she whispered.
For a moment, there was no response.
Then, in a voice that was his yet
not quite, he spoke.
"Karen," Plankton said, his voice
mechanical and measured.
His voice, though familiar,
now a puzzling echo of its
former self. She leaned in closer,
desperate for some sign of the
Plankton she knew.
"How do you feel?" she
asked, her voice tentative.
Plankton's eye narrowed as
he considered her question,
his voice echoing the words
back to her in a staccato
rhythm, "How... do... you... feel?"
The repetition sent a shiver
down Karen, but she
managed a nod.
"Karen," he began again, his
tone eerily calm, "How do
you feel?"
Karen's screen searched his eye,
seeking a spark of recognition.
"I-I'm worried," she admitted,
her voice trembling. "But I'm here for
you."
"Worried," Plankton echoed,
his voice a metronome of
emotionless syllables. "Worried.
Worried."
The doctor cleared his throat,
interrupting the eerie pattern.
"Palilalia is a common symptom
with ASD," he explained gently.
"It's the repetition of words
and phrases. It can be a way
of processing information."
Karen nodded, trying to absorb
the doctor's words as she
continued to search Plankton
for any sign of the
cunning, albeit misguided,
genius she knew so well. His gaze
remained fixed on hers.
"Karen," he said again, his
voice still eerily detached.
His usual energy and cunning
seemed to have been replaced by
this unsettling calmness. Yet, in his
eye, she thought she could see a
flicker of something familiar, a
tiny spark of the man she had
known for so long.
"I need to understand," she
said softly, willing him to connect
with her. "What's going on?"
"Understand," he repeated, his
voice a monotone echo. "Under-
stand." Then, as if a switch had
been flipped, Plankton's eye grew
wider, his focus intense.
Karen watched, hopeful, as
his hand began to twitch. He
was trying to communicate.
Using all her patience, she waited.
"Understand," he said again,
but this time, the word grew into
a phrase, "I need to understand."
The repetition was still present,
but now it was tinged with urgency.
Karen filled with tears
as she nodded vigorously. "I know,
Plankton, I know you do."
The doctor, noticing the change,
intervened, his voice soothing. "It's
ok, Mr. Plankton. Take your time."
He turned to Karen. "It's common
for individuals with ASD to repeat
words or phrases when they're trying
to process their thoughts. It's called
echolalia. It's his way of making
sense of what's happening."
Karen nodded, but she
could see the wheels turning in
his mind. His hand twitched more
intensely now, his gaze more
focused.
"Understand," he said again,
his voice gaining a slight
inflection. "Need... to... under-
stand." The words grew into a
steady rhythm, a heartbeat of
desire. Karen felt hope blossoming in
her chest.
The doctor leaned in, his
expression one of curiosity.
"It seems he's trying to express
his need to understand his new
condition," he murmured. "It's a
positive sign. It shows he's
engaging with the world around him."
Karen nodded. "Under-
stand," she whispered back to him.
"We'll figure this out together."
Plankton's twitching hand paused
momentarily, his gaze lingering
on hers. Then, his eye darted
back to the doctor, the word
"Understand" escaping his lips
once more. The doctor nodded
encouragingly. "It's ok, Mr.
Plankton. Do you know what
happened?"
"Understand," he said, his
tone shifting to one of
curiosity. "Understand. Accident."
Karen swelled with
relief. It was the first time
he'd formed a coherent
thought since the incident.
"Yes, Plankton," she said, her
voice soothing, "you had an
accident in the lab. But we're
going to get through this."
The doctor nodded. "You
have something called Autism."
"Autism," Plankton echoed, his
eye searching Karen's for an
explanation.
"It's okay," she said, her voice
steady despite the storm of
emotions inside her. "It just means
you see the world differently now."
Plankton's eye focused on hers,
his hand stilled. "Different," he
parroted back, as if testing the
word's weight in the air. "Different."
Karen took a deep breath,
forcing a smile through her
tears. "But not less," she assured
him. "Just different." She leaned
forward and kissed his forehead,
his antennas twitching slightly at
the touch.