CHIP AND FAIL xviii
(Autistic author)
Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "So that's why
he..."
But before he could finish,
Plankton's antennae began to stir,
his body shifting slightly in the
bed. Chip's breath caught in his
throat as he watched his father's
face contort. "It's
not uncommon for someone with
autism to have trouble with
sleep." Karen whispers.
"He's okay."
Chip's eyes remained glued
to his father, watching as the
twitching grew more pronounced.
Plankton's antennae quivered and he
let out a soft whine.
Karen's hand reached
for Plankton's, her thumb
stroking his gently, her
voice a gentle coo. "It's okay,
Plankton," she whispered, her
hand stroking his arm.
Karen's voice remained
steady, her hand never
leaving Plankton's arm.
"It's okay," she whispered,
her eyes on Chip. "He's just..."
Chip took a tentative step
forward, his hand reaching
out to mirror Karen's. His
fingertips brushed Plankton's
arm. "Dad?" he
whispered, looming
over him.
With a gasped jolt, Plankton's
eye flew open, his antennae
shooting straight up with a yelp
at the sight of Chip looking over him.
"Don't touch me!" he screamed,
his voice a mix of fear and anger.
Chip's hand shot back as if burned.
He stepped away quickly, his eyes
wide with shock. "Dad," he began,
his voice shaky.
But Plankton's antennae were a
blur of agitation. "I said no!" he
shouted. "Can't you just leave me
alone?"
Chip's eyes filled with hurt, but
he stepped back, his arms dropping
to his sides. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Karen's voice was a soft
whisper, trying to soothe Plankton.
"It's okay, honey," she said, her
hand still on his arm. "Chip's just
trying to help."
Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye darting from Karen to
Chip and back again. "I don't
want his help," he said, his
voice tight with anger. "I just want
to be left alone."
Chip felt his heart sink. "But Dad,"
he protested, his voice cracking.
Plankton's antennae stopped moving.
He took a deep, shaky breath. "Chip,
you have to understand," he said, his
voice strained. "I need my space."
Karen's eyes were filled with
compassion as she turned to
Chip. "Give him some time,"
she said gently.
Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "But
what if he doesn't want
me to come back?"
Karen's voice was firm. "He
doesn't have to be ready
right now," she said. "But we'll
work on it."
Chip's eyes searched hers,
seeking reassurance. "But what
if he never is?"
Karen's voice was a gentle
reminder. "He's your father,
Chip. And you love him.
Give him the space he needs,
but don't give up."
Chip nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's rigid
form. "Okay," he murmured.
"But how do I..."
But Karen's voice was firm. "You'll
learn," she said. "We'll all learn
together." She stood, her hand
sliding off Plankton's arm. "For now,
let him rest. We'll talk more later."
Chip nodded, his gaze
lingering on his father's tense
form. He turned to leave the room,
his shoulders slumped with the weight
of his newfound understanding.
As he closed the door softly behind
him, he heard Plankton's muffled
sobs, and it was like a dagger to his
heart. He leaned against the wall,
his eyes brimming with tears. "What
have I done?" he thought.
Karen's hand was a warm
comfort on Plankton's shoulder,
guiding him back to the bed.
"Let's sit," she said, her voice
soft and soothing.
Plankton's antennae slowly
lowered as he sat down, his body
still tense with emotion. "I just...
I can't," he said, his voice
breaking.
Karen pulled him into a gentle
embrace, her arms a warm cocoon
around his trembling form. "You
don't have to," she whispered. "You've
been through enough."
Plankton's antennae quivered against
her shoulder. "But what about Chip?"
he managed through his sobs. "He
deserves better."
"He deserves to understand,"
Karen said, her voice a gentle
lullaby. "And we'll help him get there."
Plankton's sobs quieted, his antennae
still quivering against her shoulder.
He took a shaky breath. "I don't
know if I can," he said. "Every time
I think we're making progress..."
"Shh," Karen whispered. "We're
getting there." She held him tighter.
Plankton's antennae stilled, his
body relaxing slightly into
the warmth of her embrace. He
closed his eye, his breathing
evening out. Within minutes,
his antennae were a gentle sway
against her neck, a sign that
sleep was claiming him.
Karen held him tightly, her own
body tense with the weight of
his pain. She knew this was a
small victory, but it was a
step in the right direction.
As she felt him drift off,
she whispered, "We'll get
through this together."
Plankton's antennae stilled
completely, his body finally
giving in to the comfort of
his wife's embrace.
Karen's heart ached as she felt
his tension melt away, his breaths
evening into the rhythm of sleep.
The room was a canvas of early
morning light, casting soft shadows
on their intertwined forms.
Plankton's antennae had finally
stilled, their gentle sway a testament
to his deep slumber. His body was
relaxed, no longer a battleground
for sensory overload.
Karen's arms remained wrapped
around Plankton's shoulders, her
grip gentle yet firm. His antennae,
which had been a maelstrom of
anxiety, now laid calmly against
her neck, each twitch replaced by
a steady breath.
The room, bathed in the soft
glow of early dawn, was a sanctuary
of quietude. The tension from
the previous night had been
replaced by the serene rhythm of
his snores, a melody that spoke of
his body's surrender to rest.
Chip tiptoed back to the bedroom
door, his heart a drum in his chest.
He peeked in, his eyes immediately
finding his father, still asleep.
Karen was there, her arms
around Plankton's shoulders.
The sight of them together,
his mother's comforting embrace,
his father's peaceful rest,
was a stark contrast to the
chaos of the night before.
Chip's heart clenched in his chest,
his eyes stinging with unshed
tears. He wanted so badly
to be a part of that peace,
but he knew he had to earn it.
He took a tentative step into
the room, his eyes never
leaving his father's sleeping
form. Karen looked up, her eyes
heavy with the weight of the
night's events. She offered a
small smile, a silent gesture of
support.
"How is he?" Chip asked, his
voice a whisper in the early
morning stillness.
"As well as can be," Karen replied,
her eyes never leaving Plankton.
"But we need to talk."
Chip nodded, his heart racing
as he stepped closer to the bed.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his
eyes on his father's still form.
Karen's gaze met his, her
expression a mix of love and
concern. "We all are, Chip," she
said, her voice a gentle breeze.
"But it's important to learn
from this."
Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "What can I do?"
he asked, his voice tentative.
Karen looked up at him,
her eyes filled with understanding.
"For now, just give him space,"
she said. "He needs to wake up
on his own terms. You've
apologized," she said. "Now you
have to show it."
Chip nodded, his heart
heavy. "What do you mean?"
Karen took a deep breath.
"It means," she began, "that
you need to respect his boundaries.
Ask before you touch him. Give
him time to process what's happening.
And when he says no, accept it."
Chip nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton. "But what if
I accidentally..."
Karen's voice was a firm,
yet gentle, guide. "You'll learn,"
she said. "It's about paying
attention, Chip. Watching his
body language, his antennae.
They'll tell you when he's
reaching his limit."
Chip nodded, his eyes still
on Plankton's sleeping form. "But
what if I miss the signs?"
his voice filled with fear.
Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the earnestness in
them. "You won't always get it
right," she admitted. "But the
important thing is that you
keep trying."
Chip nodded, his gaze
falling to his father's antennae.
They were still, no longer a
whirlwind of distress. "I will,"
he promised.