𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 3
Plankton takes a moment.
He looks at Chip, really looks
at him. "It's ok," he says, his
tone a mix of sadness and
resignation. "I know it's hard
to understand, but I'm going
to try to explain."
He sits down. "You
see, buddy, I have something
called autism," Plankton
begins, his voice shaking
slightly. "It's like my brain
has its own special rules.
Sometimes it makes things
easy for me, like remembering
everything I've ever seen
or heard. But other times,
it makes the world too loud,
too bright, too much to handle."
Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "And
sometimes," Plankton continues,
his antennae drooping slightly,
"I have these moments called
seizures. They're like when
you get really, really dizzy
and your body just needs a
stop, except mine happens
without much warning."
Chip sits down beside him,
his curiosity outweighing
his sadness. "What were
those toys in your bedroom
for, Dad?" he asks.
Plankton glances at the
closed door, then back at
Chip. "Those are my sensory
toys," he explains, his voice
still shaky. "They help me
stay calm when things get
restless. Like when I have
a meltdown or a seizure."
He pauses, gathering his
thoughts. "You know how
sometimes you get overwhelmed
with homework, and you just
need to take a break?"
Chip nods. "Yeah," he says,
his voice barely audible.
Plankton sighs.
"It's like that for
me, but all the
time." Chip nods.
He remembers his dad's
strange behaviors, his
avoidance of certain textures
and sounds, the way he'd
always have to sit in the
same spot at the dinner table.
"It's like my brain wants those
toys to reset, like when your
game console freezes and
you have to unplug it," Plankton
says, trying to find a metaphor
his son would relate to,
relieved that his son
is trying to understand. "And
you get those...seizures?" Chip
asks him.
Plankton nods solemnly.
"Yes, buddy," he says.
"They're like storms in
my head. They come and go,
but when they're here, they're
real big." He pauses, searching
for the right words. "And when
the storm is over, I can get
this...funny feeling. That's
when I might start laughing
at things that aren't funny or
thinking things that aren't there.
It's like my brain's way of
getting back to normal."
Chip nods, his
eyes never
leaving his
father's face.
"But it's not all
bad," Plankton adds,
trying to inject a
little humor into the
conversation. "Sometimes,
my brain does cool
things. Like when I
can remember every
single Krabby Patty
formulation we've ever
tried to steal. Or when
I can see patterns that
other people miss." He
smiles faintly. "But it's not
always fun. Sometimes
it's really hard, and I
need help. Your mom's been
my biggest help," he tells
his son. "Without her, I
don't know what I'd do."
Chip nods, his eyes
welling up again. "I want
to help too," he says
determinedly. "What can
I do?" Plankton's heart
swells with pride.
"You can just be you,"
Plankton tells him, his
voice a bit stronger
now. "And if I ever
seem weird or different,
just remember that I'm
still me. That's all I
ask." He pauses, then adds,
"And maybe...maybe we can
find some things that are
soothing for me, together."
Chip nods, a glimmer of
excitement in his eyes.
"Okay," he says, his voice
still shaky. "We can do that."
Plankton smiles, the first
genuine one since before
his seizure. "Good," he says.
"Because I'm not going
anywhere, buddy. I'm still
your dad, and I'm still
the best darn Krabby Patty
thief in Bikini Bottom."
They share a tentative laugh,
the tension in the room
dissipating slightly. Chip
wipes at his eyes, a hint of
a smile playing on his lips.
"So, what now?" he asks.
Plankton takes a deep
breath. "Now, we move
forward," he says. "You know
about my autism, and you
know I'll have moments. But
I want you to understand
that I'm okay." He looks
at Chip, his eye searching
for any lingering fear or
confusion. "I've had this
all my life."
Chip nods, his gaze
steady. "What about your
seizures?" he asks, his voice
barely a whisper. Plankton
swallows hard, his antennae
twitching nervously. "They're
part of me too," he admits.
"But with your mom and
now you, I'm not alone. Now
it's getting late. We all need
to go to bed." Plankton goes
to his shared room with Karen
but Chip follows. "Can I sleep
with you tonight?" Chip asks,
his voice hopeful.
Plankton hesitates. He's a
light sleeper, and even the
faintest noise can wake him.
"I don't know, Chip," he says,
his voice thick with exhaustion.
"I might wake you up with my
movements." But Chip's hopeful
expression is hard to resist.
"Please, Dad," Chip whispers,
his eyes pleading. "I want to be
close to you." Plankton feels a
lump form in his throat. He
knows that Chip is just trying
to process the new information,
to understand his father's
condition. He nods, his antennae
drooping slightly. "Okay," he says.
"But just roll over if I start
making noise or moving around
too much." Karen nods. "It's part
of his autism." Chip then
crawls into his dad's bed.
Plankton's movements are
slow and deliberate, his
body still recovering from
the seizure. He lies down,
his antennae drooping.
Karen tucks the covers
around them both, giving
them a gentle kiss on the
forehead. "Sleep tight," she
whispers before switching
off the light.