𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 13
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
Karen awoke the next day
This Plankton might
still be in such delicate
state after her mistake. He
might primarily use Sign
Language after such scary
incidents. Plankton still slept
in the bed beside hers. She
knew better than to touch
or disturb him. He'd always
been a light sleeper.
The sun peeked through
their window, casting a
soft glow across the room.
Karen took a deep breath,
steeling herself as Plankton
awoke. She knew not to
force anything.
Plankton sat up. He
spotted Karen, her eyes
filled with remorse. With
slow, deliberate movements,
he signed 'Morning'. She
nodded, her heart aching.
"Morning," she murmured,
keeping her voice soft. "How
are you feeling?"
Plankton's antennae
twitched as he signed,
'Tired. Skin crawls. Sad'.
Karen's stomach twisted.
"I'm sorry," she said, her
voice cracking. Plankton
then started monotonous
humming, a vocal stim.
Chip, having heard the
whispers, tiptoed into
the room. He opened
the door and came in.
"Hi there," Chip says
tentatively. Karen smiled.
"Good morning," she
managed, her voice
just above a whisper.
Plankton's humming
paused.
Plankton looked up, his
eye focusing on Chip.
He signed 'Morning' with
his hand, his movements
slightly quicker than
before. It's a good sign,
Karen thought. Maybe he's
not as overwhelmed as
yesterday; though he's not
ready to talk yet, she knew.
Chip took a deep breath,
his own hand moving to
mimic Plankton's greeting.
The gesture was clumsy,
but earnest. "How are
you?" he says, his voice
a whisper. Plankton's
expression remained
neutral, but his antennae
twitched—a sign of
acknowledgment.
Karen watched, hopeful.
"Do you need anything?"
she asked, her voice
careful. But Plankton
didn't know how to
sign for the jigsaw
puzzle of Nosferatu.
"I'll work on the puzzle,"
Plankton managed to
say to them; the first
thing he spoke today.
So they follow Plankton
to the coffee table where
the puzzle still was. But
without asking, Chip picks
up a piece.
Plankton signed the word
quickly, 'Alone'. It was a
sharp, clear gesture.
Karen's heart clenched.
It was a simple sign, but
it was a word of meaning.
She nodded, understanding.
"Okay," she murmured.
"We'll give you some
space." Chip looked at
his dad, his eyes wide
with sadness and
confusion.
Chip watched as
his mom left the room,
closing the door with a
soft click. He felt
his own sadness and
frustration build up. He
wanted to help, but he
wasn't sure how. He took
a deep breath and sat
down beside Plankton.
"Dad," he said, his voice
small. "I know you'd like
space, but I just want to
be here with you."
Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and he
formed the 'Alone' sign,
his eye pleading.
Chip's heart broke, but he
nodded. He knew he
couldn't force his dad
to interact, no matter
how much he wanted to.
Instead, he sat quietly
beside him, placing a
handful of puzzle pieces
on the table. "I'll stay
here," Chip offered, "but
I won't talk or touch.."
Chip picked up a piece,
concentrating on the
image of Nosferatu's
face. His dad liked
puzzles—they were
predictable, with a clear
beginning, middle, and end.
No uncertainties. No
ambiguities to figure out.
He glanced at his dad.
Plankton's antennae
twitched again. His hand
moved rapidly, forming
the letters 'G', 'O',
'A', 'W', 'A', 'Y'.
Chip's heart sank. He'd
never seen that sign before.
He didn't know what sign
that spells.
"What does that mean?"
Chip asked, his voice
quivering. Plankton
sighs, his antennae
drooping. He signs
'Leave' to Chip, who
still cannot interpret
what he's signing, his
hand reaching out to his
dad. But Plankton jerks
away, his eye wide.
"I don't understand,"
Chip whispers, his throat
tight. Plankton's hand
shakes, and he signs
spelling, 'Distance'.
But Chip can't translate
that either!
Chip's mind raced as he
tried to piece together
these words his dad is
signing to him. He
wanted to help, but he
was afraid of making
things worse. "Okay," he
whispers, moving his hand
back to his lap. "I'll stay
here, but I won't talk."
Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and he
formed the 'Space' sign.
It was a clear message.
Chip nodded, his eyes
brimming with tears. "Oh,"
he said, his voice
understanding in realization.
"Space‽ I'll leave you be.."
Chip then went to see his
mom in the bedroom she
shared with his dad. Karen
looked up as he came in.
"Mom, I wanna learn the
signs Dad uses. Can you
teach me more?"
Her eyes filled with
love, she nodded. "Of
course, sweetheart."
Chip sat on her bed.
"What words does he
know, and how does
he sign them? I wanna
be able to understand.."
Karen took a deep
breath, then began to
teach him. Plankton had
learned to sign a few
key words and phrases
over the years, words
like "love," "sorry," "tired,"
and "happy." Chip's
determination to
bridge the gap grew
with each of those signs.
Chip watched intently as
his mother's hands
formed shapes in the air,
each one a silent
expression of a feeling
or a need. It was like
learning a secret code,
a language only shared
between his dad and her.
But as they practiced,
Chip couldn't help but feel
a twinge of sadness. "Why
did my dad need this, Mom?
Why couldn't he just talk?
He can talk and hear..."
Karen sighs, her eyes
soft. "It's not that simple,
honey," she says, her voice
filled with a gentle
resignation. "Your dad's
brain processes things
differently. Sometimes
forming words can be too
much, and it might be
easier for him to use signs
than to speak."
Chip nods. "But why'd he
start using them last night
when he talked earlier? Is
he gonna be okay?" Karen
nods. "Yes. He's only doing
it because yesterday, he
was pretty shaken up. Do
you remember how I told
you to leave the room, and
I'd held him?" Karen asks.
Chip nods, so Karen continued.
"Seeing you upset broke my
heart, and in my panic I held
your dad. You saw me grab him
as you left. He'd never actually
hurt you, yet I wanted to fix the
situation. I restrained him to
where he couldn't move. That
and I held him to tight." Karen
wipes a tear away. Chip looks
at her with a questioning gaze.
"That was wrong of me,"
Karen says, her voice cracking.
"It was too much for him. He
doesn't like to be touched
like that, especially when he's
already overwhelmed." Chip's
heart squeezes at the thought
of his dad being scared. "But
Mom, what does this have to—"
"Let me finish," Karen
interrupts gently. "When
autistics get really upset
or overstimulated, such
things can trigger what's
basically akin to literal
trauma. It's that intense,
Chip. And so, he's reacting
now in a way that feels
safest to him. By using
signs, he's controlling what
he can, and it's a way to
tell us things without
overloading himself with
spoken words. But he can
still talk, and he'll get back
to doing so when he feels
like it."
Chip nods, his eyes still
on his mother's hands. "I
want to understand him,"
he says, his voice firm. "I
don't want him to feel
alone." Karen smiles, her
eyes shimmering. "That's
the best thing you can
do, honey," she says. "Love
and understand. But he
might need more space
right now. You can come
with me to check on him.."