GREAT CHIP xiii
(Autistic author)
In the quiet of the corridor,
Chip's thoughts raced like a pinball machine
on tilt. What had he done?
How could he have hurt his father so?
The hallway was a blur
as he searched for the linen closet,
his eyes stinging with the tears
he'd held back.
Meanwhile, in his own
bed, Plankton stirred,
his antennae
twitching as the
world swam back into
focus.
He took a moment to
assess his surroundings,
his heart racing in his
chest. The last thing he
remembered was anger,
a fiery rage that had
consumed him whole.
Karen's voice was a
lifeline in the fog, her gentle
tone cutting through the
silence like a knife. "Honey, it's okay,"
she murmured, her hand a soft
shield against the harshness
of reality. Plankton blinked slowly,
his antennae rising with
caution.
The room swirled around him,
a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes
that slowly coalesced into the
familiar sight of his bedroom.
The soft hum of his ceiling fan
was a comforting lullaby, a
reminder that he was safe, that
his world hadn't crumbled.
Plankton's antennae twitched as
his eye found Karen's worried
face.
"You're okay," she whispered, her hand
still stroking his antennae with a gentle
rhythm. "You had another one."
The words were a soothing balm to
Plankton's frayed nerves, his body slowly
relaxing into the warmth of her touch.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising
and falling in a pattern that mirrored hers.
The door to the bedroom opened, and Chip
stepped in, his arms wrapped around a soft,
plush blanket. His eyes were red, and
his face was a canvas of regret and
worry.
"Here," Karen whispered, taking the blanket
from him and placing it over Plankton's
shivering form. "Thank you, sweetie."
Her voice was a lifeline in the storm
of Plankton's confusion.
Chip nodded, his eyes never
leaving his father's face. He wanted
to say sorry, to explain that he hadn't
meant to cause more pain, but the words
stuck in his throat, a lump of guilt.
Plankton's antennae twitched again,
his eye focusing on Chip with a mix
of confusion and anger. "What do
you want?" he rasped, his voice raw.
Chip's throat tightened, his hand
clutching the bedpost for support.
"I just... I wanted to... to say sorry,"
he stuttered, his voice barely above
a whisper. "For... for
not understanding," he finally
managed to say, his voice trembling.
"For making you feel like I don't
care about your... your neurodisability."
Plankton's antennae drooped, his
body visibly relaxing under the
weight of the blanket. He took a
moment, his chest rising and falling
under the plush fabric. "You don't get it,"
he murmured, his voice tired. "You can't
just say sorry and expect it to go away."
Karen's eyes met Chip's, her gaze
filled with a mix of sadness and
understanding. She knew the depth
of Plankton's pain, the constant battle
he faced with his condition. "Your
father's right," she said softly. "But
that doesn't mean your apology isn't
important. Sometimes, it's the
smallest gestures that mean the
most."
Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving
his father's face. "I know," he said,
his voice barely a whisper. "But I want
you to know that I'm here for you. That
I love you, Dad."
Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his eye blinking as he took in Chip's words.
He didn't speak, but the tension in the room
began to ease, the sharp edges of anger
dulled by the quiet declaration. Karen's hand
on his shoulder was a warm reminder that
he wasn't alone in this battle.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Chip
continued, his voice
still shaky. "I didn't mean
to make you feel like that."
He took a deep breath,
his eyes searching
his father's for a sign
of forgiveness.
Plankton's antennae twitched,
his gaze unreadable.
Karen watched the silent
exchange, her heart
heavy with the weight of their
unspoken words.
"I know, Chip," Plankton finally
managed, his voice a rasp. "But you have to
learn. You can't just... touch me like that."
Chip nodded, his eyes filling with tears.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of
a cliff, his words the only rope that could
bridge the gap between them. "I'll try,"
he whispered, the promise heavy in the
air. "I'll be more careful."
Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder,
her eyes filled with a mix of pride
and sorrow. "That's all we can ask, honey."
Plankton took a deep,
shuddering breath,
his antennae drooping.
"I'm tired," he murmured.
Karen and Chip both
backed away.
Plankton's antennae drooped
as he lay on the bed, his body
exhausted from the seizure and the
emotional turmoil that had followed.
"Chip," he said, his voice weak. "Could
you... just stay with me?"
Chip's eyes widened in surprise.
He'd never seen his father ask
for something so simple, so vulnerable.
"Of course, Dad," he murmured, his voice
filled with a newfound gentleness.
He carefully perched on the edge
of the bed, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's still form.
The room was a cocoon of
silence, the only sound the soft
whir of the fan above. Chip
sat with his hands clasped in his
lap, his mind racing with thoughts
and fears. He wanted to reach out,
to hold Plankton's hand, but he
knew better now. He'd learned
the hard way about boundaries.
Plankton lay still, his antennae
twitching slightly with each
breath. His gaze was fixed on the
ceiling, lost in the swirling
pattern of shadows cast by the
blades. "You know," he began, his
voice a soft rumble, "when I was
younger, I had this teacher, in
school. He didn't 'understand' me."
Chip leaned in, his curiosity
piqued. He'd never heard his father
talk about his school days before.
"He'd always scold me," Plankton
continued, his voice a distant echo.
"Said I was daydreaming, not paying
attention. But it was more than that."
Chip leaned closer, his heart aching
for the young Plankton who had suffered
in silence.
Plankton's antennae twitched as
he recalled the past. "Whenever
I'd get too... overwhelmed, I'd zone
out," he said, his voice a distant
memory. "It was like my mind was
a kaleidoscope, swirling with colors
and sounds. And just like that,
I'd be somewhere else, my body
frozen, like you saw. But I vividly
remember one day, when the colors
were especially bright and the sounds
were especially loud, I had one of those
episodes right in the middle of class."
Chip's eyes were wide with
compassion as he listened, his heart
breaking for the little Plankton who
nobody had understood. "What happened?"
Plankton's gaze remained on the
ceiling, his antennae still. "The
teacher," he said, his voice tight with
remembered pain, "he said that
people like me, were a distraction,
that I'd never amount to anything."
Chip felt a spark of anger,
his fists clenching at his sides. "But
you're a genius!" he protested.
"You've created so much!"
Plankton's antennae wiggled in a
sad smile. "Not to him, I wasn't. He
pointed me out personally and
said I'm unteachable. And when he
said that, I had one of my absence
seizures, like you saw. And when I
came out of it, he just... he just
called me a fitful monstrosity.."
The words hung in the air like a
curse, heavy and unspoken. Chip
felt his heart clench, his fists
tighten. "But you're not, Dad,"
he said fiercely.
"You're brilliant,
and... and..." He searched for
the right words, but they remained
elusive.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, a sad smile playing on
his lips. "There have been others,"
he said, his voice a whisper of
hope. "Good people. Like my
favorite teacher, who figured it out.
She never called me names, never
tried to fix me." His eyes took on
a distant look, the memory
illuminating his face. "Mrs. Puffett,
she'd make sure the class was
quiet when she saw the signs. She'd
move my desk to the corner, so the
colors and sounds wouldn't bother
me as much. And when I'd start
to have one of my episodes, she'd
simply block everyone's view by
putting up a little cardboard box
in front of me. Just a simple thing,
but it meant the world to me."
Chip felt a lump in his throat. "That's
so beautiful," he murmured, his
heart swelling with love for his
father.
"But it wasn't just her," Plankton
continued, his antennae twitching with
the weight of his words. "It was
me, too. I had to accept it, to learn
that I was different. And that's
what I want you to do, Chip."
Chip nodded solemnly.