GREAT CHIP xiv
(Autistic author)
"I know it's hard, but I need you
to understand that. Sometimes,
I may not seem okay, but that's
because it's all too much," Plankton
explained, his voice a soft rumble. "But
you know what?" His antennae twitched
slightly, a glimmer of humor in his
eye. "Sometimes, I make jokes about it."
Chip's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
He'd never heard his father joke
about his condition before. "What do
you mean?" he asked, his voice tentative.
Plankton's antennae twitched with a
tiny smirk. "Well, when other people do it,
it feels like they're laughing at me,
not with me," he said, his voice a
fragile thread of self-awareness. "But when
I make jokes, it's like I'm the one in
control of the narrative. It's my way of
saying, 'I know I'm different, and that's okay.'"
Chip nodded slowly, understanding
dawning in his eyes. "So it's about
self-acceptance?" he ventured.
Plankton's antennae bobbed
slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice
a little stronger. "Only I can decide
how I want to be seen, how my
condition is talked about. And I'd
rather have other people respect me
by making sure I'm comfortable
than by just simply disregarding it."
Chip nodded, his eyes shining with
newfound respect for his father's
strength.
"I'll try to understand, Dad," he
promised, his voice earnest. "And
I'll just... I'll just be more careful."
Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his gaze meeting Chip's with a
melding of sadness and gratitude.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice
barely audible over the fan's hum.
The silence in the room was no longer
oppressive but filled with a newfound
understanding, a gentle peace that seemed
to soothe the jagged edges of their
recent conflict.
Plankton's antennae stopped twitching,
his body relaxing into the embrace of the
plush blanket. "I just want to rest," he
whispered, his voice a soft echo in the
stillness. "Could you... could you just
stay here? Until I fall asleep?"
Chip nodded, his heart swelling
with love and regret. He sat there, his
body tense with the need to do more,
but he knew that sometimes, the most
important thing was just to be present.
He watched as Plankton's
breathing grew steadier, the shadows
on the ceiling dancing to the
rhythm of the fan's soft hum. His
father's antennae lay still against
his forehead, no longer a
testament to his agitation but a
symbol of his peaceful slumber.
The room was a sanctuary of
silence, the only sound the soft
whisper of the comforter as Plankton
moved slightly under its weight.
Chip felt a mix of emotions—fear,
guilt, love—but above all, a
renewed determination to be there for
his father, to learn and grow with him.
He sat, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's serene face, as the
minutes ticked by. The darkness outside
the window grew thicker, the moon
casting a gentle glow into the
room, painting the walls with
silver light. The quiet was a
comfort now, a balm to their
frazzled spirits.
Karen's footsteps were a soft
whisper on the floorboards as she
padded in, her eyes assessing the
situation with a practiced gaze.
"How's he doing?" she asked, her
voice a gentle caress in the silence.
"Better," Chip murmured, his eyes
still on his father. "He's asleep."
Karen nodded, her expression a
mixture of relief and concern.
"Why don't you get some rest too?"
she suggested, her hand on Chip's
shoulder.
Chip hesitated, his gaze flickering
from Plankton to his mother. "But
what if he wakes up?" he asked,
his voice a tentative whisper.
Karen's eyes softened, understanding
the fear that gripped him. "I'll stay,"
she assured. "You need to rest, too."
Chip nodded, his body sagging with
exhaustion. He leaned over, pressing
a gentle kiss to Plankton's forehead,
his antennae tickling him. "Love
you, Dad," he murmured, his voice a
whisper in the stillness.
Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder. "I'll wake you if he needs
you," she promised, her eyes
shimmering with unshed tears.
With a nod, Chip reluctantly
stood, his legs wobbly from the
adrenaline rush. He turned to leave,
his gaze lingering on Plankton's still
form, before finally exiting the room.
The hallway was a stark contrast
to the warm cocoon of Plankton's
bedroom, the cold air a slap to
his cheeks. He took a deep breath,
his heart heavy with the weight
of his father's words.
In his own room, Chip lay on
his bed, his eyes staring at the
ceiling. The quiet was deafening,
his thoughts racing like a
thousand fish in a net.
He replayed the day's events,
each moment a sharp sting in the
ocean of his mind. The look on
his father's face when he'd
tried to hug him, the sound
of the lamp shattering, the
harshness of his own voice.
Chip's thoughts swirled like
a tornado of regret. He'd never
understood the depth of Plankton's
condition, the daily battles he faced.
He'd always seen his father's
quirks as just that—quirks. But
now, the reality was stark and
unyielding. Plankton's autism was
more than just a part of him; it was
his reality, his truth, and Chip had
been careless with it.
With a heavy sigh, Chip climbed
into bed, his mind racing. He
wished he could take back the
moments that had caused pain, to
rewind the clock and start again.
But life didn't work that way.
The house was eerily quiet, the
normally bustling undersea abode
now a testament to the gravity of
the evening's events. Chip
couldn't shake the image of
his father, frozen and vulnerable,
his antennae drooping like
deflated party balloons.
The next day dawned, a soft
glow seeping into the room. Chip's
eyes snapped open, his heart racing
as he remembered the previous night.
He threw off the covers and tiptoed
to his father's room, his bare feet
slapping against the cold tile floor.
Karen was already there, sitting
on the edge of the bed, her hand on
Plankton's shoulder. The soft light of
morning painted the scene in gentle
hues, a stark contrast to the shadows
of the night before. "How's he doing?"
Chip asked, his voice hoarse.
"Better," Karen whispered, her
smile a beacon in the early light.
"He's still sleeping."
The relief on Chip's face was
palpable as he approached the
bed. Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, a sign of his dreams.
Chip's heart skipped a beat at
the sight, a silent promise to do
better, to be more understanding.
"He's been sleeping peacefully,"
Karen assured, her voice a gentle
wave lapping against the shore.
"I'll make us some breakfast."
Her footsteps receded, leaving Chip
alone with his sleeping father.
Plankton's antennae twitched
in his sleep, and Chip felt a
wave of guilt crash over him. He
carefully sat on the edge of the bed,
his hand hovering over the blanket.
He wanted to touch, to reassure, but
his earlier misstep was still
fresh in his mind. Instead, he
simply watched, his eyes tracing the
outline of Plankton's form beneath
the fabric.
The smell of pancakes began to
waft up from the kitchen, a
comforting scent that seemed to
soothe the tension in the room.
Chip took a deep breath, filling
his lungs with the sweet aroma.
He knew today would be a new
beginning, a chance to mend the
fragile threads of their bond.
As Karen's footsteps retreated,
the silence grew heavier, pressing
against the walls like the water
outside their windows. Chip's heart
beat a staccato rhythm. He reached out
slowly, his hand hovering over
Plankton's hand.
For a moment, he didn't move,
just breathed, feeling the weight of
his father's slumber. Then, with a
careful, almost reverent touch, he
covered Plankton's hand with his own.
The warmth of his father's skin
was a comfort, a reminder that
despite the turbulent waters they'd
navigated the night before, they were
still connected. Plankton's antennae
twitched in his sleep, and Chip held his
breath, fearful that he'd woken him.
But his father's eye remained closed,
his chest rising and falling in a steady
rhythm.
The silence stretched, a
testament to their newfound
understanding. Chip felt a
swell of emotion, a mix of love and
regret. He didn't want to let go, but
he knew he had to allow Plankton his
space, his privacy. So he gently lifted
his hand, placing it in his lap, the
memory of their shared warmth
lingering like a warm embrace.
He took a deep breath, his
chest tight with the weight of his
resolve. He would be there for his
father, no matter what. He would learn
about his condition, listen to his
needs, and support him without
smothering him. It was a delicate
balance, one that Chip knew he might
not always get right, but he was
determined to try.