SHELF IMPROVEMENT iii
(Autistic author)
As the minutes ticked
by, Plankton's trembling
subsided. He looked up at
her, his antennae still
twitching slightly. "Sorry,"
he murmured, his voice
barely audible. "Plankton
sorry Karen." This
wasn't like him. Plankton had
his quirks, sure, but this
was something else entirely.
It was as if the fall had
shaken something loose
in his mind, revealing
a part of him she had
never seen before.
Her arms tightened around
his slight frame, and she
pressed her screen to his
forehead. "Don't be sorry,"
she whispered. "You're
scared, and that's okay."
Plankton nodded, his
single eye squeezing shut
as if to hold in his fear.
He leaned into her embrace,
his body finally going
limp. Karen felt his
wetness on her neck, and
realized he was crying.
"It's okay," she
whispered again, her voice
the only sound in the
silent room. "You're safe
with me."
Plankton's antennae
stilled against her,
and she felt his breathing
grow calmer. The quiet was
unusual for their home,
but in this moment, it
was a welcome balm.
Her mind raced, trying to
recall any signs she might
have missed, any indication
that Plankton was suffering
from something deeper than
the physical trauma of the
fall. Was this a sudden
onset of a condition? Or had
it been there all along,
masked by his quirks and
his usual bravado?
"Karen," Plankton murmured
again, his eye squeezed
shut. "Karen Plankton."
"It's okay," she soothed.
"You're okay."
But the silence grew
louder, and she knew
it was more than just
the quiet of their usual
bickering. This was a
new Plankton, one she
wasn't sure how to reach.
His repetition of her
name was like a
mantra, a lifeline to
the world he knew.
Karen held him
closer, her own eyes
now brimming with tears.
They had been through
so much together, and
she had always been
his anchor, the one
constant in his life. But
now, she felt adrift,
uncertain of how to
navigate these uncharted
waters.
Plankton's grip
around her tightened,
his breath hitching in
sobs. His muttered
repeating of her name grew
louder, almost frantic.
"Karen, Karen, Karen..."
It was like he
was stuck in a loop,
his mind unable to
comprehend the sudden
change around him.
"Shh," she soothed,
stroking his back. "It's okay,
we're here, together."
Plankton's repetition
of her name grew more
frantic. "Karen, Karen,
Karen," he chanted, his
voice rising in pitch. "It's okay,
Plankton," she said, her
voice steady despite her
internal turmoil. "Everything's
going to be okay."
But his chanting
continued, growing
louder and more
desperate. She knew she
couldn't just sit here
forever, she had to do
something. But what?
Her mind raced,
thinking of all the
times Plankton had
fixed her when she
was broken. Now it
was her turn. She had to
find a way to reach him.
"Plankton," she
whispered, her voice
steady despite the
tremor in her chest.
"Look at me." She gently
lifted his chin so he
was forced to meet her
screen. "You're okay,
we're together."
His eye searched
hers, desperation
clear in its depths.
The chanting of her
name grew softer, but didn't
cease. Karen's mind
raced, trying to think
of anything that
could help him snap
out of this state.
"Remember the chum?"
she said, her voice
trembling slightly. "The
time we had a picnic
and the seagulls came?"
Plankton's chanting
paused for a moment,
and his eye flickered
with recognition.
It was a memory from
their early days, a
moment of shared
joy amidst their usual
bickering.
"Chum," he murmured,
his antennae twitching
slightly. "Seagulls."
Karen's screen lit up
with hope. It was a
start, a crack in the
facade of his fear. "Yes,
the seagulls," she said,
smiling through her
tears. "Remember how we
laughed when they stole
our sandwiches?"
Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and a
tiny smile graced his
lips. "Seagulls," he
repeated, his voice a
little less shaky.
Encouraged, Karen
pressed on. "And remember
how we chased them
together?"
Plankton's smile grew
slightly, and his antennae
moved a bit more
naturally. "Chased," he
agreed, his voice
still wobbly but with a
hint of his usual spirit.
Karen felt a
wave of relief wash over
her. He was remembering,
engaging with her. "Yes,
we chased them, and we
got the chum back," she said,
trying to keep the
conversation going.
Plankton's antennae
moved slightly, and he
nodded, his eye focusing
more clearly on her.
"Chum," he murmured, his
voice stronger now. "Good
chum."
Karen took a
deep, shaky breath,
fighting the tears that
threatened to fall. She had
to keep him grounded,
keep him with her. "Yes,"
she said, her voice
determined, "good chum."
Plankton's antennae
stilled, and he took a
deep, ragged breath.
"Karen," he said, his
voice a little stronger.
"Chum."
Karen's eyes searched
his, seeing the flicker
of the man she knew.
"Yes, Plankton, chum."
The room remained
silent, except for the
sound of Plankton's
deepening breaths. The
word "chum" seemed to
have a calming effect on
his agitated state. He
repeated it to himself,
his antennae finally
stilling.
Karen watched him,
relief and sadness
mingling within her.
This was a side of
Plankton she had never
seen before, a raw
vulnerability that made
her ache. He was
like a lost child, seeking
comfort in familiar words.
"Chum," he murmured
once more, his eye
shutting.
Karen nodded. "Yes, chum,"
she said, her voice
soothing.
Plankton's body
relaxed in her arms,
his breathing evening out.
For a moment,
the room remained
still, save for the
steady rhythm of his
breath. But then,
his antennae began to
move again, not with
fear this time, but
with something else.
It was almost as if
his mind was racing,
trying to process the
world around him. Karen
felt his grip on her loosen,
his body shifting slightly
in the couch cushions.
"Plankton?" she
asked, her voice tentative.
He didn't respond, but
his eye fluttered open,
his gaze focused on a
spot on the wall.
"Looks like he's in a
trance," Karen thought
aloud, her voice
barely above a whisper.
"What's going on with
you?"
Plankton's antennae
twitched rapidly, as if
trying to capture
invisible signals. His
face was a mask of
concentration, his body
tense and poised like
he was ready to flee.
Karen felt a cold
wave of understanding
wash over her. This
wasn't just fear or
confusion, it was
something deeper. She
scanned his brain, and
then she saw the results.
"Oh, Plankton," she
breathed. He had
developed autism. The
fall had triggered
something within his
brain, irreversible
damage to. She
felt a mix of shock
and sorrow, but also
a fierce determination
to support him. "Autism.
You're autistic now."
He looked at her,
his eye blinking in
understanding. "Autism,"
he echoed. "Different."
Karen nodded. "Yes, but
you're still my Plankton."
Plankton's expression
was a jumble of
emotions. Recognition,
fear, confusion, and a
tiny spark of hope. "Different,"
he repeated. "But... same?"
Karen nodded,
squeezing his hand.
"Different, but still
my Plankton." She
swiped at her tears,
determined to be strong
for him. "We'll get
through this, I
promise."
Plankton looked
at her with a mix
of relief and fear.
"Karen... love."
Karen felt
love and pain. "I love
you, Plankton," she
whispered, her voice
shaking. "We'll get
through this together."
Plankton's antennae
stopped twitching for
a moment, and he
squeezed her hand. "Together,"
he repeated, his voice
small but firm.
Karen nodded,
swiping at her tears. "We'll
face this together, I
promise. Now, it's late;
let's get to sleep.." She cleaned
up the remnants of the
shelf.