COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 3
(Neurodivergent author)
After breakfast, Plankton looks up
from his plate, his gaze meeting
Karen's. "Karen," he says, his voice
clearer now. "Plankton want outside."
Karen nods, recognizing the need
for a change of environment.
They head out to the backyard,
where the morning air is cool and
the sun's rays cast dappled patterns
on the grass. Plankton sits on a
bench, his eye scanning the
garden, taking in the sights.
He points to a scallop, its
wings a blur of color. "Beautiful,"
he says, his voice filled with awe.
Karen nods, understanding that
his heightened senses are allowing
him to experience the world in
a way she can't fully comprehend.
The sound of Mr. Krabs’s
lawnmower starts up, and Plankton
flinches, his hands flying to cover
his head. Karen quickly moves to
his side, placing a gentle hand
on his shoulder.
"It's ok," she says, her voice
calm and soothing. "It's just Mr.
Krabs." Plankton's humming
starts up again, his body
rocking slightly with each
engine's roar. She squeezes his
shoulder, reminding him of her
presence.
Together, they sit on the
bench, Karen's hand on his
back, as he tries to ground
himself with the feel of her
touch and the rhythm of his
humming. The lawnmower's noise
gradually becomes louder. Plankton's
body tenses, and he starts to
rock faster, Karen notices.
"Let's go inside," she suggests
gently, reading his distress.
The moment they step back
into the house, the noise
dims. He leans into her, his body
seeking the comfort of her
nearness. Karen leads him to the
couch, where he curls into a
small ball, his hands over his ears.
"It's ok," she repeats, her
voice a lullaby. "We can go
to the quietest room."
They move to the study,
a place where Plankton's
favorite books reside. He
nods, his body still tense
with the memory of the mower's
invasive sound. Karen closes
the door, cutting off the outside
noise, and sits beside him
on the floor. She opens a
drawing book she knows
he loves, filled with scenes
from his favorite movies.
Plankton's hands drop from
his ears as he focuses
on the images, his breathing
steadying. Karen picks up
a pack of colored pencils,
handing them to him without
a word. He selects a blue
one and starts to trace
the outline of a jellyfish,
his hand shaking slightly.
The mower's drone outside
becomes a distant hum, the
pages of the book a barricade
against the sensory assault.
He colors in the jellyfish,
his strokes becoming more
confident, his breaths deep
and even. Karen watches him,
seeing the world through
his eye, feeling his
discomfort slowly ebb away.
The blue pencil moves with
purpose, filling in the
intricate details of the jellyfish's
bell. Plankton's focus is
so intense it's as if he's
drawing a map to navigate
his new reality. Each stroke
is deliberate, a silent protest
against the chaos that had
invaded their morning.
The mower's noise grows
fainter, a fading memory.
In the quiet of the study,
his mind finds refuge. The
colors swirl and blend, a
symphony of order amidst
the cacophony of sensations.
Karen watches him, her own
hands resting in her lap, giving
him the space he needs.
His coloring becomes a form
of therapy, a way to communicate
without words, to express
his feelings when speech fails.
The blue pencil moves to a
green one, then a red, each color
adding layers to the picture.
The jellyfish comes to life
under his touch, a silent companion
that doesn't judge or overwhelm.
The doorbell rings, a sharp
intrusion into their sanctuary.
Plankton's body jerks at the sound,
his hand slipping, leaving a smudge
on the page. Karen sighs,
knowing it's Mr. Krabs,
probably coming over
to check on them. She
glances at Plankton, his
body coiled tightly, his eye
fixed.
"It's okay," she whispers,
placing a hand on his arm.
"It's just Mr. Krabs."
The doorbell rings again,
more insistent this time.
Plankton's antennae droop,
his body taut with anxiety.
He starts to rock, his humming
picking up speed. Karen rises,
leaving the colored pencils
behind. She moves to the door,
each step deliberate.
Mr. Krabs's face appears
through the peephole,
his expression a mix of
concern and curiosity.
She takes a deep breath,
preparing herself for the
interaction she's read so much
about. How to explain
Plankton's condition without
causing more stress?
When she opens the door,
Mr. Krabs's eyes widen, noticing
Plankton. "Ye drawing a jellyfish?
Absurd!" He cackles, causing further
distress; Plankton sees where his
drawing messed up and the harsh
sound of Krabs laughter, and can't
take it anymore. He throws the
colored pencils across the room,
each one a silent shout of
frustration. "Leave me alone!"
he yells, his voice cracking.
Mr. Krabs's laughter dies
instantly, his face morphing
into one of shock. "Plankton, buddy,
what's gotten into ya?" he asks,
his voice thick with amused confusion.
The question is a spark to Plankton's
already frayed nerves. He feels his
body tense further, his voice rising.
"You don't know anything about me!"
Plankton shouts at Mr. Krabs, his
words a jumbled mess of anger and
hurt. "You think you can just come
in here and laugh at me?"
Mr. Krabs's claws freeze in midair, his laughter
choked off by the unexpected outburst.
He stammers, trying to find the words
to respond, but Plankton cuts him off.
"You think I'm a joke? That my brain is
a punchline for your entertainment?"
Plankton's voice is a mix of anger and
pain, each word a knife thrown with precision.
Mr. Krabs, taken aback, takes a step
backward. His face is a mask of
surprise, his mouth agape like a
fish out of water. "No, no, Plankton,"
he stammers, his claws raised in a
defensive gesture. "I didn't mean to—"
But Plankton isn't listening, his
eye blazing with a fury Karen's never
seen before. "You never knew me!"
he cries, his voice echoing through
the hallway. "You just saw what
you wanted to see!" Each word is a
whip crack in the tense silence.
Mr. Krabs opens
his mouth to speak, but Plankton's
words continue to fly like shrapnel.
"You only see what you want to see!"
Plankton's voice cracks with emotion.
"You see a business rival, not a
friend, not someone who's hurting!"
He stands up, his body trembling.
Karen steps in, her hand on his
arm, trying to calm him. "Let's go
back to the study," she tries to
suggest.
But Plankton is beyond listening.
The dam of his emotions has
broken, and he's lost in a flood
of words and accusations.
"You only cared about your Krabby
Patties, your greed!" Plankton's
voice rises, each syllable a dagger.
Mr. Krabs's eyes dart around, unsure
how to respond to the raw pain in
his friend's words. So he reaches his
claw out hoping to calm him, but it's
giving the opposite effect.
"My whole life, you've used me!"
Plankton's accusations fly like
shrapnel in the quiet room. Karen's
heart aches, but she knows this is
a release he needs. She remains
silent, her hand a comforting weight
on his back, grounding him.