WHEN THE CHIP FALLS ii/ii
(Autistic author)
Karen takes a deep breath,
preparing to explain. "You know
how sometimes, when somethings
made, things don't always
develop as planned?"
she starts, her eyes never
leaving Chip's. "Well, Daddy's
brain is like that. It's just
how he was born."
Plankton's shoulders slump,
anger dissipating into
a heavy sadness. He looks
at his son, his heart aching.
"It's hard for me to express
how I feel," he says. "But
that doesn't mean I don't feel it."
Chip stares up at his
father.
"But why can't you just tell me?"
he asks, trembling.
"Why can't you just be like...
normal dads?"
The word "normal" hangs in the air
and Plankton feels
his rage reignite.
"Don't you dare," he growls, his
eye flashing with anger. "Don't
you ever say that again."
Chip takes a step back, his body
shaking. "What did I say?"
he whispers.
But Plankton doesn't
answer. He turns away,
his movements stiff and
jerking, as if he's fighting
against invisible chains.
Without a word, he storms
out of the living room.
The bedroom door slams
shut with a finality that
echoes through the house.
Karen's gaze follows him,
her heart heavy. Then she
looks back at Chip, her eyes
filled with a mix of love
and disappointment. "Chip,"
she says firmly. "You can't
just... expect him to change
like that."
Chip's eyes fill with
understanding, his body
slumping. "I didn't mean
to..." he starts, his voice
trailing off. "But I just
want to spend time with
him," he says, his voice
small and defeated.
Karen sighs, her gaze
softening as she looks at
her son. "I know, sweetie,"
she says, her voice gentle.
"But using the word 'normal'
doesn't help. It makes
Daddy feel like something's
wrong with him, like he's
not good enough."
Chip's eyes widen, realizing
his mistake. "I didn't mean it
like that," he stammers, his
cheeks flushing with
embarrassment. "I just want
us to be happy together."
Karen nods solemnly, her
eyes holding his. "I know
you do," she says, her voice
gentle. "But words can hurt,
especially when we don't
understand the full weight
they carry. Your father's
not 'normal' in the way you
think, but that doesn't mean
his love for you is any less."
Chip bites his lip, his eyes
glued to the floor. He feels
a pang of guilt, knowing
he's hurt his dad.
With a heavy sigh, Karen
stands up. "Let's go talk to
your father," she says,
placing a comforting hand
on Chip's shoulder. They
walk down the hallway
to Plankton's bedroom.
The door is ajar, and
through the crack, Karen
can see Plankton's hunched
form on the bed, his face
buried in his hands. His
shoulders shake with silent
sobs. Her heart aches for
his pain.
With Chip in tow, she
pushes the door open. Plankton
doesn't look up, his body
wrapped in a cocoon of
self-loathing. The room is
a mess of discarded lab
equipment and half-finished
experiments, a visual representation
of his tumultuous thoughts.
"Plankton," Karen says softly,
her voice a lifeline thrown
into the sea of his despair.
He doesn't move, his
body rigid with the weight
of his own emotions.
Chip takes a tentative step
forward, his hand reaching
out to touch his father's
shoulder. "Dad?" he whispers.
Plankton's body jolts,
his sobs growing louder.
Karen's heart clenches at the
sound, knowing the depth
of his pain.
"Dad?" Chip's voice is
tiny, his hand hovering
over his father's back.
He's never seen
his dad like this,
so vulnerable and broken.
Plankton's sobs
fill the room, each one
a shard of pain that
penetrates Karen's soul.
Her heart breaks
for her husband, for
the struggle she knows
he faces every day.
Chip's hand shakes
as he touches Plankton's
shoulder, his voice a
tiny thread of hope
woven through the
storm of emotions.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he says,
his voice barely a whisper.
Plankton's sobs
intensify, his body
wracking with the weight
of his sorrow. Karen
moves to the bed, sitting
down beside him, her
hand on his back. "It's
okay," she whispers, her
voice a gentle breeze in the
storm of his grief.
But Plankton is
beyond consolation. His
sobs are like waves,
crashing against the
shore of his pride,
eroding the barriers he's
built up over the years.
He can't speak, can't
even look at his son.
Chip's touch is
a soft whisper in
the hurricane of
his father's pain, but
it's enough to make
Plankton's shoulders
shake even harder.
The weight of his
emotions is too much,
his body unable to
contain the torrent.
Karen wraps her
arms around him,
trying to soothe the
storm within. She
knows the feeling
all too well, having
been his anchor through
so many of these
moments. Plankton's
sobs are like a language
only she can understand.
Chip watches, feeling
helpless, his hand
still hovering over
his father's back. He's
seen his dad upset before,
but never like this. It's
like looking into the
eye of a hurricane and
wishing you could stop
it from spinning.
"Daddy," Chip says
again, his voice
tiny, hopeful. Plankton's
body tenses under
his touch, and for a
moment, it seems like
the storm might abate.
But the sobs only
get louder, the tremors
more violent. Karen's
heart breaks as she sees
the hurt in her son's eyes.
"Let's give him some
space, okay?" she says
gently, her hand on
Chip's shoulder.
"Go wait, I'll take
care of him."
With a nod, Chip retreats,
his eyes never leaving
his father's bent form.
Once he's gone, Karen
wraps her arms around
Plankton, holding him
tightly as he cries.
"Shh," she whispers,
stroking his back in soothing
circles. "It's okay. I'm
here." Her voice is a
lullaby in the tempest
of his emotions, a beacon
of calm in the chaos.
Slowly, Plankton's sobs
begin to subside, his
body unclenching from its
self-imposed prison. He
lifts his face, eye red
and wet with tears.
"I just want..." he whispers,
his voice raw with pain.
Karen's eyes well up with
tears, her heart aching for
his suffering. "You are
normal, Plankton," she says
softly. "You're just different."
Plankton's body quakes, his
sobs subsiding into hiccups.
"But Chip..." he chokes out.
"He thinks... he thinks..."
Karen's grip tightens,
her voice firm and loving.
"Chip's young," she says.
"He doesn't understand
yet. But we'll teach him."
Plankton's sobs slowly
ease, his breaths coming
less ragged. He nods, his
body still tense. "I know,"
he says, his voice a whisper.
"But it hurts."
Karen pulls him closer,
aching for his
pain. She kisses
his cheek, her touch
gentle the way she knows
he likes it.
"You're a good dad,"
she whispers, her voice
the calm after the storm.
"You show
Chip that you're here for him,
in your own way."
Plankton's eye meets hers,
his gaze searching for truth
in her words. He nods
slowly, his shoulders
slumping as he takes a deep,
shuddering breath. "Thank
you," he whispers, his voice
still thick with emotion.
Karen nods, her heart
full of love and sorrow.
"Let's go talk to Chip,"
she says gently, standing up.
Plankton wipes his eye,
his body still trembling.
He nods, following her out
of the room, each step
a monumental effort.
In the hallway, Chip is
sitting on the floor, his
back against the wall.
He looks up as they approach,
his eyes red and swollen.
"Dad," he says, his voice
cracking with emotion.
Plankton's steps falter,
his heart in his throat. He
forces himself to meet his
son's gaze, the weight of
his guilt a heavy burden.
"I'm sorry," Chip says,
his voice shaky.
The words are a balm
to Plankton's soul, his
anger and pain receding
like a retreating tide.
He looks at Chip, his
eye swollen with
unshed tears, his heart
heavy with regret.
"I didn't mean to... I just..."
Chip's eyes are red,
his cheeks stained with
tears. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he whispers, his voice
a mere thread of sound.
Plankton's heart clenches
at the sight of his son's
pain. He sits down next
to Chip, his movements
slow and deliberate, not
wanting to startle him. "It's
okay," he says, his voice
shaky. "I shouldn't have
snapped at you. I'm not..."
Chip looks up, his eyes
swimming with tears. "You're
not what?" he asks, his
voice hopeful.
Plankton sighs, trying
to find the words. "I'm
not like other dads," he
admits, his voice barely
above a whisper. "But that
doesn't mean I don't l-love
you, or that I don't want
to be with you."
Plankton's gaze drops to
his son's small, trembling
hand. "It's hard," he says,
his voice tight with emotion.
"I... I don't always know
how to make you feel
what's inside."
Chip looks up at him, his
eyes searching. "What's
inside?" he asks, his voice
tiny.
Plankton's gaze meets
his son's, and he sees the
flicker of hope. "Love," he
says finally, his voice
cracking. "It's just... different."
Chip's eyes widen with
understanding, the fear
fading from his eyes. "Can you
show me?" he asks, his voice
small but steady.
Plankton nods, his body
still tense with emotion. He
thinks for a moment, trying to
find a way to bridge the gap
between his love and his
inability to express it. "Look,"
he says, pointing to a jar
on the shelf. "I only like certain
touches from certain people.
But I'm the one who recommended
we get that ice cream yesterday, right?"
Chip nods, his eyes
glistening with hope. "Yeah, you
always know the perfect flavor."
Plankton's smile is
forced, but it's a start. He takes
a deep, shaky breath. "And remember
when you had that science fair
project, and I helped you?"
Chip nods, his eyes
lit with memory. "You stayed
up all night, making sure I got
it just right."
Plankton's smile is a little
more genuine this time. "I did
that because I care about you.
I want you to be happy, even if I
can't show it like everyone else."
He reaches out tentatively,
his hand hovering near Chip's.
For a moment, it seems like
he might withdraw again,
like a snail retreating into
its shell at the first sign of
danger. But then, with a
deep breath, he touches
his son's shoulder, his
fingers light and unsure.
Plankton's hand trembles,
his touch as gentle as a
feather landing on Chip's shoulder
before retreating.
"Normal is over
rated," he whispers, the word
a promise. "But I do, in my own way."