SHELF IMPROVEMENT xv
(Autistic author)
Karen's heart
breaks a little more
with each word.
"Chip, please,"
she says, her voice
shaking. "Your dad
doesn't mean to be..."
But Chip's anger
has taken over. "Dad
you just touched me!
So I think at this point,
you don't get to tell me
what to do!" he yells,
his voice a mix of
pain and anger as he
once again pokes Plankton.
This time, Plankton's
response is explosive.
He jumps off the bed,
his antennae flaring with
fury. "DO. NOT. TOUCH. ME!"
he roars, his voice
booming in the confines
of the room. The
power behind his
words sends a shiver down
Karen's spine.
"Chip, stop it," Karen
says, her voice
firm. "Your dad's
autism makes him
sensitive to touch
right now. You know
this."
But Chip is beyond
reason, his own
pain fueling his
actions. He
pokes at Plankton
again, his eyes
filled with anger.
Plankton's antennae
quiver, his
body tight as a
spring. "Don't," he
warns, his voice
low and dangerous.
But Chip doesn't
listen.
He reaches out
once more, his
finger poised
like a dart.
Karen can
see the internal
battle raging
behind that one
word, the need for
his personal space
and the fear of
what could happen
if it's violated.
The moment
Chip's finger makes
contact with
his arm, Plankton's
unable to take
much more.
With a
whimper that
sounds like
the sigh,
he crumples back
onto his bed as
his eye rolls
back in his
head. His
body convulses
once, twice, and
then stills as his
eye closes.
Karen's seen
this before, but
the sight of
it never gets
easier. She rushes
to Plankton's side.
"Daddy!" Chip's
voice cracks,
his anger
dissolving into
fear. "Mom!"
Karen's eyes
widen as she
sees Plankton's
body go limp. She
quickly assesses
his condition,
seeing the signs
of a meltdown
turning into a
full-blown shutdown.
"Mom?" Chip's
voice is shaky,
his anger now
replaced with
fear. "What's
happening?"
Karen's heart
is racing as she
gently cradles
Plankton's head.
"It's okay," she
soothes, her voice
calm but filled
with urgency. "He's
just overwhelmed."
Chip stands
frozen, his hand
still in midair.
The reality of what
his words have
caused crashes
over him like a
wave, soaking him
in guilt. "Dad?"
he whispers, his voice
tiny and scared.
Karen's eyes
meet Chip's,
full of pain.
"I'll take care
of your father," she
says, her voice
steady despite the
tears threatening to
fall. "Why don't
you go to your
room?" She nods
towards the door.
Chip nods,
his eyes never
leaving Plankton's
still form. He
backs out of the
room, the weight
of his guilt
following him like
a shadow. The door
clicks shut behind
him, leaving
Karen alone with
Plankton.
The silence
is heavy, the air
charged with the
residue of their
outburst. Karen
pulls the blankets
up to Plankton's
chin.
"You're okay," she
whispers, her voice
barely audible over
his shallow
breaths. She runs
her hand over his
forehead, soothing
his antennae.
Plankton's body
shudders under her
touch, his mind
reeling from the
sensory assault.
"You're okay,"
Karen repeats, her
voice a gentle
lullaby in the
storm of Plankton's
thoughts. She
continues to stroke
his antennae,
trying to ground
him.
Plankton's
eyelid flickers,
his mind slowly
coming back to
his surroundings. The
weight of his
exhaustion is like a
heavy blanket,
smothering him.
"Chip," Karen says,
her voice tight with
worry. "Come
back in. I need
you to see this."
Chip's eyes
are red from crying,
but he obeys,
his gaze
falling on his
father's still
form.
"Look at him,"
Karen says, her
voice thick
with emotion.
"This is what your
words did."
Chip's eyes
fill with horror
as he looks at
his father's form.
"Dad," he whispers,
his hand reaching
out tentatively.
But Plankton
doesn't react,
his mind shut down.
Karen's eyes
are filled with
despair, watching
her husband, her
partner, her best
friend, trapped
in his own
overwhelmed world. "Oh,
Plankton," she whispers,
her voice shaking
with concern.
Chip's hand
hangs in the air,
his heart racing. He
doesn't know what
to do.
"He's in a
shutdown," Karen
explains, her voice
calm but
strained. "It's like
his brain has
turned off to
protect itself."
Chip's hand
drops to his side,
his eyes never
leaving his
father's
motionless body.
"But why?" he
asks, his voice
small and scared.
Karen sighs,
exhaustion etching
lines into her face.
"It's his autism,
Chip. It's like
his brain's way of
saying 'I can't handle
any more'." She
swipes at her
own tears, trying to
keep her voice
steady. "When the
stimulation gets
to be too much, his
body just...shuts down."
Chip looks at
his dad, his
heart heavy with
regret. "But I didn't
know it would be
this bad," he says,
his voice barely above
a whisper. "I just
wanted to be heard."
Karen nods, her
eyes never leaving
Plankton's. "I know,
sweetheart," she
says. "But you
see, your dad's
brain works
differently than
yours or mine." She
takes a deep
breath, choosing
her words
carefully. "When
there's too much
noise, or too many
people, or even just
too much
expectation," she
pauses, her hand
still stroking
his antennae, "it can be
like someone's
turned the volume
up too high, and
everything just
becomes too much."
Chip sighs.
"But why did we
have to leave?" he
asks, his voice
small and lost.
Karen looks at
Plankton, his
body still
shaky from
his meltdown.
"The science fair
was too much for
Daddy," she says
gently. "You know
how I said he
overwhelms easy?"
Chip nods,
his eyes
glued to the
floor.
"At the science
fair, Daddy had a
kind of seizure,"
Karen explains,
trying to keep
her voice steady.
"It's like his brain
got too full of
information and
it couldn't process
it all. To many
people were talking
all at once." She pauses,
swallowing the lump
in her throat. "It's
not that he didn't
want to be there
for you, Chip. It's
that his body
simply couldn't handle
it."
Chip's eyes
widen with
understanding.
"But he looked
normal," he says,
his voice tinged
with doubt. "He
didn't..."
Karen sighs,
taking Chip's hand.
"It's not like a
normal seizure," she
explains. "It's
called an absence
seizure. He's
semiconscious but
his mind kind of...
leaves him
for a moment."
Chip nods
slowly,
his eyes
focused on
Plankton's face.
"But why was
he so mad at me?"
Karen looks
at her son,
her heart
aching for
both of them.
"It was just
his brain's way of
dealing with
the overload. And
when you kept
poking him and
blaming him," she
sighs, her eyes
filling with tears,
"it just added to
his stress. He's just...
overwhelmed."
Chip stares
at the floor,
his eyes wide
with guilt.
"I didn't mean
to," he whispers.
"I just wanted
you to be proud
of me."
Karen's heart
aches for her
son. She knows
his intentions
were pure, but
the impact of
his words was
like a bomb
exploding in
Plankton's mind.
"I know, Chip,"
she says gently. "But
sometimes, we
have to think about
how our words affect
others, especially
when someone's going
through something
as hard as your dad. Now
it's getting late; we could
all use some rest."
Chip nods, his
throat tight with
unshed tears. He
kisses Plankton's
forehead, his heart
heavy with regret.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he
whispers, his voice
cracking. "I'll do
better."
Karen watches
as her son
backs out of the
room, the weight
of the evening's
events weighing
heavily on his
small shoulders. She
wishes she could
take away his pain,
his guilt.
Turning back
to Plankton,
she gets in
his line of sight
and speaks softly.
"Plankton, honey,
are you awake..."
His single
eye opens
slightly, a
tiny slit in
his otherwise
still form. "Yes,"
he whispers, his
voice hoarse with
fatigue.
Karen's
heart clenches
with relief.
"How are you
feeling?" she
asks, her voice
gentle.
Plankton's
eye flickers,
his antennae
barely moving.
"Tired," he
whispers.
Karen nods,
understanding. "I'll
be right here," she
promises, her
voice a gentle
caress.