AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii
(Autistic author)
Karen picked him up, and carried
his limp form to his bed. She
stood there for a moment, watching
his chest rise and fall. The
snores grew quieter as sleep
consumed him.
The weight of what had just
happened settled on her shoulders.
Karen lay him down gently. She
tucked him in, his antennae
resting against the pillow.
The room was quiet except for
his soft snores, a stark contrast
to the chaos that had filled it
moments before. Karen sat by his
side, her hand on his arm.
After a few moments, she
stood up and walked to the door,
closing it gently behind her. She
found Hanna in the living room,
her eyes red-rimmed and worried.
"Hanna, I need to talk to you,"
Karen said, her voice firm but not
accusing. Hanna looked up, her
expression hopeful for guidance.
Karen sat beside her, her eyes
on her own hands, which were
fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's
been through a lot," she began, her
voice measured. "He's different now."
Hanna nodded, her eyes wide
with unspoken questions.
"Still coming to terms with it but you're
just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine."
"I guess I'll head out. I never meant
to cause Plankton distress."
Karen nodded, her eyes still on her
fidgeting hands. "Thank you for
understanding. I'm pretty sure he
knows you didn't mean to, but I
can still tell him when he wakes up."
Hanna left, and Karen went back
to the bedroom.
Plankton was still asleep, his
breathing steady and peaceful.
Karen sat by the bed.
Plankton's snores were the
only sound in the room, a
gentle reminder of the peace
that sleep brought him from
his tumultuous world of
heightened senses.
Karen took a deep breath,
her thoughts racing. This was
their new normal, a dance
of understanding and patience
they would have to learn.
When Plankton next woke up,
his eye searched the room,
his antennae twitching slightly.
He looked over to find Karen
sitting in a chair beside the bed,
her gaze on him.
"Hi," she said, her voice gentle.
He sat up slowly, the fabric
of the bed rustling beneath
his weight.
"How are you feeling?" Karen's
concern was palpable, her eyes
scanning his face for any signs
of distress. Plankton took a
deep breath, trying to organize
his thoughts. Karen's presence
was a balm to his soul, her
understanding a lifeline in the
storm of sensory input.
"Where's Hanna?"
Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving
his face. "She left, sweetie. You were
a bit...overwhelmed."
Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with the memory of the
sensory assault.
"It's okay," Karen assured him, her
voice a soft whisper. "She just
didn't understand, and felt bad
for the way she treated you."
Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The room was quiet, a stark
contrast to the chaos from before.
He took a moment to collect himself,
his thoughts racing.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen reached out
and took his hand, her grip firm
but gentle. "You have nothing to
apologize for," she said, her tone
soothing. "This is all new to us.
Would you like to eat?"
Plankton nodded.
"I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen
said, standing up. She knew that too
much stimulation could send him spiraling.
In the kitchen, she prepared a
snack of plain crackers. She
placed the plate on the table
carefully, not wanting to startle
his heightened senses again.
Plankton entered the room, his
movements deliberate and slow.
He sat down across from her, his
eye darting around the room.
"It's ok," Karen reassured him,
handing him the plate of crackers.
"Just food."
"Just food. It's ok; just food." He
repeats back to himself, focusing
on the plate. Each cracker was a
tiny square of safety, a familiar
comfort in a sea of sensory
uncertainty.
He took a deep breath and
selected one. The taste was
comforting, a reminder of
a simpler time. Karen watched
him, her screen filled with love.
Plankton took a sip of water,
his eye never leaving hers. "It's
ok just food," he said again, his
voice still low. "Karen good and
good food. It's ok."
Karen nodded, her smile a mix
of relief and sadness. She knew
his echolalic tendencies was
the autism, but she's glad he
likes the food as well.
They sat in silence, the only
sound the crunch of crackers
and the occasional sip of water.
Plankton's eye focused on the
cracker in his hand, the patterns
on the surface a comfort. His
autistic brain craved the predictability,
the sameness that calmed his
nerves.
This was the man she knew, yet
he was different. The Plankton who
was always plotting and scheming
was now one who found
comfort in the mundane.
His mind felt clearer
now, the overwhelming chaos of
the earlier encounter with Hanna
beginning to fade.
Karen watched him, her heart
breaking for the silent struggle
she knew he faced every moment.
"I'll talk to Hanna," she said
gently. "I'll explain. What do you
want me to tell her? What'd you
like for her to know?"
Plankton's gaze remained on the
cracker, his thumb tracing the
edge. "Tell her sorry," he
mumbled.
"What else? I mean, is it ok if
I tell her you're autistic now?
Or what about the accident
that lead to the autism?"
Plankton's antennae twitched at
the word 'accident', his mind
reeling with memories of the
stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs,
the pain. But he nodded slowly.
"Ok," he murmured.
Karen's heart ached at the
simplicity of his response. The
complexity of his thoughts was
now a tightly guarded secret, hidden
behind a wall of sensory overload.
"Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice
soft. "But remember, it's ok to be
different."
Plankton nodded, his eye still on
his food. But as he took another
cracker, he paused. He looked up,
his gaze locking with hers.
"Karen," he said, his voice a
little stronger now. "I, I l-love you."
Karen's eyes widened at the sudden
declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered, her voice thick with
emotion. "I love you too."
Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving
hers. "Karen making everything okay," he
murmured.
He took another cracker, his
hands shaking slightly. "You make
Plankton feel safe," he continues
with sincerity. "In a world that's too
much, Karen not too much."
Karen's eyes filled with tears
at his heartfelt words. She reached
across the table and took his
hand. "Plankton, I'm here for
you. Always."
Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching. He looked into her screen,
his own filled with a depth of
emotion that hadn't seen
before. "You good, Karen," he said,
his voice steady. "Helping
Plankton."
Plankton was finding his way to
express himself, to connect with
her in a way that was meaningful.
She squeezed his hand.
"I'll always help you," she promised.
"Karen," Plankton began, his
voice tentative. He took a deep
breath, trying to find the words.
"I love you, Karen," he said finally, his
eye intense with feeling.
Karen swelled with love
and pride. Despite his struggles,
Plankton was learning to express
his emotions in a way that made
sense to him. It was a victory,
small but significant.
"Thank you, Plankton," she said,
squeezing his hand. "Your love makes
me happy." His antennae twitched
slightly, a sign of his awkwardness
with the emotional exchange.
The room was quiet, the only
noise the soft sound of their
breathing and the occasional
crunch of a cracker. Plankton's
eye searched hers, looking for
reassurance.
"Plankton need...space," he
managed, his voice
shaky. "Too...much emotional
interaction. Still love."
Karen nodded, understanding
dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said,
releasing his hand. "I'll be right
here. Take all the time you need."