𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 13
"You're a
ret-" Chip
screams.
The words hang
heavy in the
air, each one a
knife to Plankton's
heart. He's
spent his whole
life trying to
prove he's not,
and in one
moment, his
son has
reduced him to
a cruel epithet.
He feels the
sting of tears
in his eye, but
his body won't
let them fall.
He's frozen,
his mind racing.
What did he do
wrong? How could
his own flesh
and blood say
something so
hurtful?
Karen jumps to
her feet, her
face a mask of
fury. "Chip," she
says, her voice
dangerously calm.
"That's enough."
Chip turns to
his mom,
his eyes wide and
wet. "But he just
doesn't get it,"
he wails.
Karen takes a
deep breath,
her eyes on her
son, her voice
steady. "Chip,
Dad is not
that word. He's
autistic, and that
means he
processes things
differently. He's
always trying to
understand you,
just like you're
trying to understand
him."
Chip's anger
subsides, now
replaced by
guilt and
confusion. He
looks at
Plankton, who's
still frozen on the
bench. "But I just
wanted him to
be happy for me,"
Chip says, his voice
small. Karen
kneels beside
him, taking his
hand. "And he is,"
she says firmly. "You
just have to learn
how to read his
emotions differently."
Chip frowns. "What
do you mean?" He
asks her.
Karen takes a
deep breath, her
heart aching for
both her son and
her husband. "Your
dad shows his love
and pride in
his own way, Chip.
Sometimes, it's not
the same as everyone
else's." She looks
at Plankton, who's
still sitting on the
bench, his antennae
drooped low. "But
that doesn't mean
it's not there," she
adds softly. "His
autism just makes
it harder for him to
show it like other
people do."
Chip looks at
Plankton, his
chest tightening
with regret. "I'm
sorry," he says,
his voice barely
a whisper. Plankton
doesn't move, but
his antennae twitch
slightly. "Dad, I'm
sorry!" Chip repeats,
his voice stronger.
Plankton blinks,
his eye swiveling
towards Chip. "I
don't get it," he said,
his voice flat. "Chip
what makes you think
I wasn't pro-"
But Chip doesn't
let him finish.
"You never cheer,"
he says, his voice
breaking. "You
never clap, you
never jump around.
You're always so
still and quiet. It's
like you don't even
care. You say you're
proud, but you don't
show i---"
Karen cuts him
off with a gentle
squeeze of his
hand. "That's not
true, Chip," she
says, her voice
calm. "Your dad
shows his feelings
in his own way. It's
just different from
what we're used
to." She turns to
Plankton, her
expression
softening. "Plankton,
can you tell Chip how
you felt when you
heard he won?"
But Plankton's in
his own world now.
"Chip won, Chip
won, Chip won,"
he repeats, his eye
unfocused. "I'm
proud but, you
don't show it, I'm
sorry. I'm proud, I'm
proud, Chip won. I'm
proud. But you
don't show it, I'm
sorry," he says
to the empty
air. "Chip won."
His voice is
monotone, his
body rocking
slightly, his
stim. "Chip, I'm
proud, Chip won. But
you don't show it. I'm
sorry. I'm proud, I'm
proud, I'm proud,"
he murmurs.
The words repeat
like a broken
record, each one
more painful
than the last. Karen
sighs, her heart
breaking for her
husband, and also
her son.
Chip stares
at him. Plankton's
stim doesn't stop,
tears in his eye.
"I'm proud, Chip
won, I'm sorry. I'm
proud," he continues,
upset at himself.
Karen steps
forward, her eyes
filling with
compassion. "Plankton,
you're doing just
fine," she says,
trying to cut
through the
repetitive phrase.
"We know you're
proud. It's okay."
But Plankton's
stim doesn't stop.
"I'm proud. But you
don't show it, I'm
sorry. Chip won."
His voice is
mechanical, his
thoughts locked in
a painful loop. Karen
sits beside him.
"It's okay," she
soothes. "Chip
knows you're proud.
You don't have to
keep saying it."
But the words
don't stop, the
stim a shield
against his son's
pain. "I'm proud,
but you don't show
it, I'm sorry. Chip
won." His voice
cracks, his antennae
quivering with
each syllable. Karen
wraps her arm around
his shoulders,
pulling him into
her embrace. "You're
doing great, Plankton.
We're all proud
of Chip. We just
have to remembe---"
But Plankton
can't stop, the
phrase playing
like a broken
record in his mind.
"I'm proud, but
you don't show it,
I'm sorry," he whispers,
his antennae drooping.
He can't look at
his son, the hurt
in Chip's eyes
too much to bear.
"Chip won." His
voice is a
whisper now, his
body still.
Karen's arms
tighten around
his shoulders. "It's
okay, Plankton," she
soothes. "You're
doing your best."
But he can't hear
her over the hurt.
"I'm proud," he
whispers, his voice
cracking. "I'm proud."
Chip watches, his
tears falling freely
now. "Dad," he says,
his voice thick with
sorrow. "I know you're
proud of me. I know
you love me!"
But Plankton's
stim continues, his
voice a sad refrain.
"I'm proud, but
you don't show it,
I'm sorry. Chip won."
Karen's eyes
fill with tears.
"Chip," she says
softly, "Your dad's
stim is his way of
coping with his
emotions right now.
He's trying to
say he's proud, but
his brain's stuck
in a loop."
Chip wipes at
his own tears,
his heart aching.
"I didn't mean to
make him sad," he
whispers. "I just
wanted him to be
happy."
Karen nods, her
own eyes wet. "I
know, sweetheart,"
she says, her voice
soothing. "And yet,
it's hard for people
with autism to
show their feelings
the way we do. And
right now, your dad's
feeling a lot of
things. He's sorry
he can't be like
everyone else, but
he's also really proud
of you."