COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 9
(Neurodivergent author)
The next morning, Karen wakes up
first. She and Plankton are still at
Hanna's house.
The room is a soft embrace of
morning light, the curtains pulled
back like the veil of a bride. She
carefully extricates herself from
the tangle of limbs, not wanting
to wake him. Plankton's antennae
twitch in his sleep, a gentle reminder
of his constant vigilance, even
in rest.
Karen moves quietly, seeing Hanna
already up.
"How's he doing?" Hanna whispers,
her voice a soft splash in the
morning calm.
Karen turns, her eyes a mirror
of the quiet sea outside. "He's
sleeping," she says, her voice a
soothing ripple.
Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching with the first whispers
of consciousness. The room's
soft light is a gentle tide,
easing him into the day. His eye
opens.
Karen is there, her smile a
ray of sunlight piercing the
morning's soft shadows. "Hey," she
says, her voice a gentle ripple.
"How are you feeling?"
Plankton blinks, his antennae
slowly rising like the dawn.
"K-Karen," he mumbles, his voice a
quiet wave against the shore.
Hanna followed Karen in
to the room. "Just let him
wake up," Karen murmurs.
Her screen is a soft sea, full of
concern for Plankton. Hanna nods,
her curiosity like a rock in the
tide of her understanding. "I've
never seen anything like yesterday
before," she says, her voice a
whisper. "When I saw the seizure..."
Her words trail off, the memory
a storm cloud in the room's
serenity. Karen nods. "It's like his
brain gets overwhelmed and just...short-
circuits."
Hanna's screen is a canvas of curiosity,
her eyes wide as the sea. "What causes it?"
she asks, her voice a gentle probe.
Karen sighs, her screen a soft glow.
"His brain can't always handle the
overstimulation."
Hanna nods, her gaze
sliding to Plankton, who
is sitting up. "You mean
like a meltdown?"
The word hits him like
a tidal wave, his antennae
snapping to attention.
"Don't say that," he snaps,
his voice a crack of thunder
in the room's calm. "Never call
it a 'meltdown' or a 'seizure'!"
Karen's eyes widen, a silent
ocean of surprise. Hanna's
cheerfulness fades like the dawn.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice
a retreating wave. Plankton's antennae
snap back, a barricade of hurt.
"They're just words, Plankton,"
Hanna says, her voice tentative.
He turns away, his antennae
quivering. "I can't control it."
The room's peace is a shattered
coral reef, the waves of his
emotion crashing through.
Karen sits beside
him, her hand a comforting
current on his back.
"Plankton," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "It's ok to be upset."
Her words are a lighthouse beam,
guiding him through the fog
of his fears. "Those words are just
descriptions. They don't define
you. What words would you like
them to be called instead?"
He thinks for a moment, his antennae
twitching with the effort.
"How about...'overwhelming moments'?"
he suggests, his voice a soft
lapping wave of hope. "Pauses, spasms.."
Karen nods, her eyes a gentle
smile. "That's a beautiful way
to put it," she says, her voice
a soothing current. "Would
you like me to use that instead?"
Plankton turns to her, his antennae
quivering with hope. "Yes," he whispers,
his voice a soft wave. "Would like to
use that instead."