SHELF IMPROVEMENT v
(Autistic author)
They sat together, the
morning light filtering
through the kitchen
window, casting a warm
glow over their quiet meal.
Karen watched Plankton
closely, noticing the subtle
differences in his
behavior. The way his
eye would dart around the
room, as if searching
for something. The way his
antennas would stiffen
whenever a noise pierced
their sanctuary.
"No more noise," he
whispered, his voice tight
with anxiety.
Karen nodded,
swiping at her eyes.
"I'll be quiet, Plankton.
I'm here."
They ate in
companionable silence,
each lost in their
own thoughts. Karen's
mind raced with the
implications of this
new development. She had
read about autism before,
but it had always
felt like something that
happened to other
people. Now it was
right here, in their
kitchen, changing the
dynamic of their
relationship.
Plankton's antennae
twitched as he
chewed, his focus
completely on his food.
Every now and then, he'd
look up at Karen, his
eye searching for
reassurance. She gave it
without hesitation, her
smile genuine,
full of love.
As they finished
breakfast, Karen's mind
raced with what their
day would look like now.
Would they still go
about their usual
routine, or would
everything be different?
"Plankton," she said
gently, placing her hand
on his shoulder. "Do
you w..."
He flinched at
the sudden contact,
his antennae shooting
straight up. She
had to be more careful,
more sensitive to his
new reality. She pulled
her hand back, giving him
space.
"Plankton," she
started again, her voice
softer this time. "Do you
want to find a quiet
place to sit for a while?"
He nodded, his
antennas still. "Quiet," he
whispered, his eye
flickering to the living
room.
Together, they moved
to the couch, the sunken
cushions welcoming them
like an old friend. Karen
knew Plankton liked the
feeling of being enveloped,
and she hoped it would
offer him some comfort, and
moved a throw blanket
over his legs.
Plankton leaned into
the cushions, his antennae
twitching slightly as
his eye darted around
the room. Karen sat beside
him, not sure what to
say or do next. "Would you
like to read a book?"
she offered tentatively.
Plankton's antennae
stopped moving for a
moment, his gaze
locking onto hers. "Book," he
mumbled, his voice
lacking the enthusiasm
he usually had. Karen
selected a simple story,
hoping the familiar
words would comfort him.
As she read, Plankton
remained still, his
eye half-closed. The words
were a gentle lullaby to
his overwhelmed mind. Karen
noticed that he didn't
react to the plot twists
or the punchlines, his
expression unchanged.
It was as if he was listening,
but not quite there.
"The end," she said
softly, closing the book.
Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly, and he turned
his gaze to her. "Book," he
mumbled. It was the first
word he had said in what
felt like hours. This
wasn't the Plankton she
knew, the one who could
spout complex sentences and
wield his wit like a
weapon. This was a
Plankton lost in a world
of sensory overload and
confusion.
She knew that autism
was a spectrum, and that
Plankton was still
himself, but it was
difficult to see him
this way.
"Let's try something
else," she suggested,
desperation tinting her
voice. She searched
his face for any sign
of recognition or interest.
Plankton nodded, his
antennas drooping slightly.
"Okay," he murmured, his
eye unfocused. "How
about we play a game?"
she suggested.