KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iii
(Autistic author)
The sound of the door opening
interrupted. Sandy
barged in. "Hey,
Karen!" she called out.
"Hi, Sandy; come in.." Karen says.
Sandy looked over at Plankton
sitting at the
kitchen table, his plate empty,
his gaze fixed on the spot where
his food had been. "Hey, Plankton!"
she exclaimed, as he got up to go
sit on the living room floor with a
science book. She followed him.
"What's up, buddy?" she asked,
her voice cheerful. But Plankton
ignored her, his focus solely on the
pages in front of him. Karen watched
their interaction with a mix of
concern and curiosity.
"Plankton, you ok?" Sandy's
voice grew softer, her eyes
narrowing as she studied her friend.
"You seem... different."
Karen tensed, waiting for his
response. Plankton didn't look
up from his book, his eye
scanning the pages.
"Plankton?" Sandy tried again, her
voice a mix of confusion and
concern.
But Plankton remained
oblivious, his new condition
rendering him unable to read social
cues. "Why?" he asked, his tone
matter-of-fact, as if inquiring
about the weather.
Sandy's smile faltered. "Well,
you're just sitting there, not
saying anything," she said, trying
to keep the frustration from her
voice.
Plankton didn't look up from his
book. "Reading," he said, his voice
devoid of any inflection.
Sandy's confusion grew into
hurt. "Is everything ok?" she
asked, her voice tentative.
Plankton, still engrossed in
his book, didn't look up. "Ok,"
he murmured.
Sandy's known
Plankton for years, but his behavior
today was unlike anything she had
ever seen.
Karen prompts him. "Plankton,
say hello to Sandy."
He glances up from his book,
his gaze passing over her without
recognition. "Say, say hi Sandy," he
says, his voice lacking any warmth.
Sandy's smile fades, her paws
clenching slightly with irritation.
"What's gotten into you, Plankton?"
she snaps, her voice sharper than
she had intended. "You're acting
like you don't even know me!"
Karen's circuits whir with
activity. "Sandy, it's okay," she
hesitates, not quite
sure how to explain
without revealing the truth.
"I'll go pick up some soda
pop drinks." She says, leaving
them both.
Sandy watches her leave, her
expression a mix of anger and
hurt. She turns to Plankton.
"What's your deal, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice tight.
"You've been acting weird
ever since I got here."
Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his gaze unnervingly intense.
"Weird," he repeats, as if
processing the word for the first
time. "Different."
Sandy's anger bubbles to the
surface. "Yeah, you're different.
You're ignoring me!" she exclaims,
her paws on her hips. Plankton's
expression doesn't change. "Reading,"
he says simply.
Her frustration grows. "You're
always reading, Plankton," Sandy says,
her voice rising. "But you've never
ignored me like this before!"
Plankton's eye blinks, his focus
shifting to her. "Sorry," he says,
the word a mere echo of what
he used to express. It's clear
his social awareness has shifted.
He doesn't understand the subtleties
of her emotions anymore.
Sandy's hurt turns to anger. "You
don't just say sorry and go back
to ignoring me," she snaps. "What's
going on with you?"
But Plankton seems lost in his
own world, the words on the pages
of his book more real to him than
the friend standing before him.
Sandy's patience wears thin. "Why
aren't you listening to me?" she
demands.
"Listening," Plankton murmurs, his
gaze never leaving the book.
Sandy's eyes widen, her anger
building. "I'm right here!" she
says, her voice a mix of frustration
and sadness. "What is so important
that you can't even look at me?"
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere,
his thoughts racing through the
pages of his book. The words
swim before his eye,
each line a puzzle waiting to be
solved. He's oblivious to Sandy's
hurt, his world now filtered through
a new, more intense lens.
Sandy's voice pierces through
his concentration, her tone
sharp. "I said, why aren't you
listening to me?"
Plankton looks up, his eye
dilating slightly as he takes in
Sandy's stance. He tries to
interpret her body language.
"Plankton reading," he says, his voice
still flat, his gaze drifting
back to the book.
Sandy's eyes flash with anger.
"That's not what I asked, Plankton!"
she says, her voice rising. "What's
going on with you? Why are you
ignoring me?"
Plankton's gaze flicks back to
her, his expression still vacant.
"Reading," he repeats. The
word feels like a shield, a way to
explain the inexplicable.
Sandy's eyes narrow, her paws
snatching the book from his grasp.
Plankton's eye widens in surprise
at the sudden movement. He tries to
retrieve the book, body moving in jerky
motions. "Book," he says, his voice
still monotone.
Sandy holds it out of reach. "Look at
me Plankton!"
Plankton's arms flail, his body
straining to retrieve the book.
"Book," he says, his voice
desperate, his mind overwhelmed.
Sandy, unable to understand feels her
own anger flare up. "What's your
problem?" she snaps, holding the
book higher. "You're acting like
a little kid!"
Plankton's eye locks onto the
book. "Mine," he whispers,
voice strained.
Sandy's seen him at his worst,
but this is something she can't
comprehend.
"I'm not a toy for you to ignore!"
she shouts. She hid the book on a
high shelf.
Plankton's body tenses.
"Mine," he repeats, his
voice rising in desperation.
Sandy's eyes fill with tears of
frustration. "Why are you acting
like this?"
He stands up, his body
shaking. "MINE," he shouts.
"What's gotten into you? Why
are you being like this?"
Plankton's eye darts around
the room, unable to hold
Sandy's gaze.
"Plankton, you're acting like a
complete jerk," Sandy says, her voice
shaking. "No wonder Karen is
always so tired with you."
"Karen," Plankton murmurs.
"Karen ok?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.
Sandy throws her arms in the air,
exasperated. "How can you be so
selfish? Don't you know that
Karen is sick of you?" "Sick
of me?" he echoes. "Yes, sick of you," she
snaps. "Why don't you try acting
normal? Perhaps then
Karen would be happier! Or
better yet, leave her!"
The words hang in the air like a
toxic cloud, their sting hitting
Plankton's core. But his new
brain can't process the depth of
her anger. "Karen happy," he
whispers, his voice a broken
echo of his former self.
Sandy's eyes flash with rage.
"You don't know anything," she
spits out, her words like acid.
"You're just a selfish, self-centered
plankton who doesn't care about
how Karen feels!"
Plankton's concepts of "selfish" and
"sick of" are foreign to his new
way of thinking. He tries to
find the patterns in her words,
the logic in her accusations, but
it's like trying to solve an
impossible equation. "No," he
whispers, his voice trembling. "Karen
not sick of me?"
"You really don't get it,
do you?" she says, her voice
filled with a mix of anger and
sadness. "You're so caught up you
can't see what's right in front of
you! Karen doesn't deserve this!"
Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his mind struggling to piece
together the puzzle of her
emotions. "Karen happy," he
repeats, his voice strained.
Sandy's anger turns to
despair. "You don't even know
what you're saying," she says, her
voice heavy. "You're
so wrapped up in your own little
world that you can't see how much
Karen does for you, and how
much you hurt her."
As if on cue, Karen returns
with coffee. "I'm back," she says, her
voice a gentle hum. She notices
the tension in the room and
Plankton's distress.
"Is everything ok?" she asks,
placing the drinks on the table.
Sandy glares at Plankton.
"No," she says, her voice
shaking. "Everything is not ok.
Plankton's been acting weird
all morning and, I told him how
you're always tired of him,
and he just doesn't get it."
Karen takes in the scene. She tries to
intervene gently. "Sandy, I think
there's something you should
know," she begins, but Sandy cuts
her off, turning to Plankton.
"See? Even Karen
thinks you're a burden!"
Plankton's world
shatters. Sandy's words hit him
like a tidal wave, her accusations
sinking into his new reality.
His teary gaze locks onto Karen,
desperation in his voice. "Burden?"
he croaks.
Karen's
circuits racing as she tries to
smooth over the situation. "No,
Sandy," she says, her voice calm
but firm. "That's not what I said."
"Don't lie to me, Karen," Sandy
snaps, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "I can see you've had enough
and if Plankton can't see that, then
perhaps it's best if he just leaves."
Karen's circuits race with
a mix of emotions - anger at
Sandy's accusations, sadness at
Plankton's distress, and fear of
what this means for their friendship.
"That's not true," she says, yet
Plankton's searching for any hint of
deception.
Sandy's eyes are steely, her
body language confrontational.
"Why don't you just leave her alone?"
she spits out, her voice thick with
frustration.
Plankton stands up, his sobs echoed
through the corridor as he runs back
to the bedroom, shutting the door with
a thud.
"Sandy
that was uncalled for," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.
Sandy's anger turns to surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
she says. "I'm
just telling the truth.."
Karen's expression is a mix of
sorrow and anger, her
voice tight. "You don't know what
he's going through."
Sandy's anger fades, replaced
by confusion. "What do you mean?"
she asks, her voice softer.
Karen takes a deep breath,
steeling herself for the
conversation she had been dreading.
"Plankton had an accident, hit
his head on the vault and got
knocked out."
Sandy's in shock.
"What? Is he ok?" she asks.
Karen sighs, her shoulders
slumping. "Plankton has
autism now," she says. "He can't
help the way he's acting."
The revelation hits Sandy like a
ton of bricks. The realization of
her own harshness crashes over
her. "Oh no," she murmurs, her
eyes filling with tears. "I had no
idea."
Her gaze drifts to the
closed bedroom door.
"What have I done?"
she whispers, her
voice cracking.