SHELF IMPROVEMENT ix
(Autistic author)
"Plankton," Karen
says, her voice
steady despite the
worry. "You need to
understand that Chip
doesn't mean to
hurt you."
But Plankton was lost
in his own world, his
tiny fists clenched
by his sides, his
body vibrating with
uncontrolled anger. "No
more!" he shrieked. "No
more Chip!" His eye
was wild, darting around
the room as if searching
for an escape from
the invisible tormentor.
Karen watched him. She had
read about meltdowns
in her research but
experiencing one was
another matter entirely.
Her husband's distress
was palpable, and she
knew she had to act
quickly.
"Plankton," she
said, her voice calm
but firm. "Look at me.
It's Karen. You're safe."
But Plankton's
eye remained wild,
his antennae quivering.
"No safe," he
whispered, his voice
haunted. "Chip, too loud."
Karen understood the depth
of his fear. "Chip's
not here," she said
soothingly. "He's in his
room, just like we asked.
You're okay."
But Plankton's
screams continued,
his tiny body
shaking with the
force of his
anger. "Chip go!"
he yelled, his voice
scratchy from the
strain. "Chip bad!"
Karen's mind raced,
trying to find a way
to calm him. She
moved closer, her
hands up in a non-
threatening gesture.
"Plankton, please,"
she said, her voice
as gentle as a
whisper. "Chip's not
here, remember?"
But Plankton's
autistic meltdown
continued, his voice
raised in a string of
incoherent threats
and fear. "No more
Chip!" he screamed.
"Bad Chip, go!" His
body was a blur of
movement.
Karen tried to approach him,
her movements slow
and deliberate. "It's
just us, Plankton," she
said calmly, her voice
soothing. "You're
safe."
But Plankton's
autistic meltdown
was unyielding. "Chip bad!"
he yelled, his antennae
thrashing wildly. "Karen,
make Chip go!" "Plankton,
Chip's not here," she
repeated, her voice
even softer. "It's just
you and me."
Plankton's screams
continued, his
tiny frame contorted
with rage. "Make Chip
leave!" he shrieked.
"Chip go away!"
Karen's eyes
filled with tears
as she approached
his trembling body.
"Plankton, baby," she
whispered, her voice
steady. "Chip's not
here. It's okay."
But Plankton's
autistic meltdown
showed no signs of
abating. He continued
to scream, his
fear-filled eye darting
around the room as if
his son was still
there, threatening
his sanctity. "No
Chip, no more!"
Karen's voice
was a gentle stream
of reassurance,
trying to cut through
the storm of
his distress. She
knew she had to find
a way to calm him
without adding to his
overwhelm. She
moved closer, her
body language open and
non-threatening.
"Plankton," she
soothed, her hand
outstretched. "Look
at me, it's just me,
Karen." But his
screams grew louder,
his tiny fists
pounding the bed
in frustration.
"No Chip! No more
loud!" he shrieked,
his voice raw. "Karen
keep Chip away!"
Karen moved closer,
carefully placing
a hand on
his shaking
shoulder. "Chip's not
here, Plankton," she
soothed, her voice
gentle. "It's okay."
But Plankton's
autistic meltdown
was a tempest
she couldn't calm.
"No more Chip!"
he sobbed, his
tiny body shaking
with the force of
his emotions.
Tears streamed
down his face,
his antennae drooping
as if in defeat.
Karen couldn't bear to
see him like this,
so vulnerable and
afraid. She sat
on the edge of
the bed, her hand
still on his shoulder.
"It's okay," she
whispered, her voice
a gentle lullaby. "Chip's
not here, Plankton."
Plankton's sobs
were like the
waves of the sea,
crashing against
the shore of his
tiny frame. Each
breath he took
was a battle, his
body racked with
the effort of trying
to calm himself down.
Karen felt powerless,
but she knew she had to
try something.
"Plankton," she
whispered, her voice
barely audible over
his cries. "Let's do
our deep breathing,
okay?" She demonstrated,
inhaling deeply and
exhaling slowly, hoping
the rhythm would
soothe him.
For a moment,
his screams stuttered,
his breath catching.
Karen felt a flicker
of hope. She leaned
closer, her hand
on his chest. "In and
out," she instructed,
feeling the rapid
thump of his heart
beneath her palm.
Slowly, his sobs began to
even out, his breath
matching hers. His
body was still tense,
his antennae still
quivering, but the
intensity of his meltdown
was waning. Karen
continued to breathe
with him, her hand
a comforting weight
on his chest.
"Good, Plankton," she
whispered, her voice
a soft breeze in the
storm. "In and out."
His sobs grew quieter,
his body less tense.
Karen's hand remained
steady on his chest,
feeling the erratic
thumps slowing to a
more manageable rhythm.
The room was a cocoon
of soft sounds—his
breaths, her voice, the
faint ticking of the
clock on the wall.
"Good," she said,
her voice still a
whisper. "We're okay."
Plankton's body
was still, his
breathing returning to
normal. He looked
up at Karen. "Karen,"
he murmured, his voice
small and scared.
Karen's with love
and sadness. "I'm
right here, baby," she
whispered, stroking his
forehead. "You're safe."
Plankton's antennae
twitched, his
body slowly relaxing
beneath her touch.
"Safe," he murmured.
"Chip?"
Karen squeezed his
shoulder gently. "Chip's
in his room, just like
we asked," she said, her
voice soft and steady.
"He's not going to
bother you now."
Plankton's antennae
stilled, his breaths
coming in deep,
shuddering gulps. "No
more loud," he whispered.
Karen nodded. "I know,
baby," she said. "We'll
make sure it's quieter
for you."
Plankton's antennae
relaxed slightly. "No
more loud," he repeated,
his voice a plea.
Karen nodded,
swiping at her own
tears. "We'll keep
things calm," she
promised. "We're all
going to work
together to make
sure you're okay."
Plankton's gaze
flicked to the door,
his antennae quivering.
"Chip safe?" he asked,
his voice a mere
whisper.
"Chip's safe," Karen
reassured, her voice
soothing. "He's just in
his room, giving
us some space."
Plankton's antennae
twitched with
understanding. "Space,"
he murmured. "Chip
understands space?"
"Chip's just a
little confused," she
explained. "He loves
you, but he's learning
about your new
needs."
Plankton nodded
slightly, his antennae
still. "Chip good,"
he murmured. "Just...
to much."
Karen felt a
wave of relief wash
over her. "Yes,
sweetie," she said.
"Sometimes Chip's
energy can be too
much. We'll talk to
him about it."
Plankton's antennae
twitched again,
his gaze drifting
back to the
closed door. "Talk?"
Karen nodded,
wiping the tears. "Yes,
we'll talk to him," she
said. "We'll explain
how you're feeling
and what you need."
Plankton's antennae
drooped slightly. "Chip
still loves Plankton?"
Karen's eyes filled
with tears. "More than
anything," she assured
him, her voice thick
with emotion. "Chip loves
you so much, and he'll
learn how to be
gentler with you."
Plankton's antennae
perked up a little,
his fear beginning
to recede. "Gentler,"
he whispered, his voice
hopeful.
"Yes," Karen
nodded, her eyes
never leaving his.
"We'll all learn
to be gentler."