WHEN THE CHIP FALLS i/ii
(Autistic author)
Karen picks up
her son, Chip,
from a friend's
house. "Hi, mom!
Where's dad?" He
asks her.
"Don't worry, we'll
see him soon."
They
return home.
Once inside, Chip
throws his book bag
on the couch,
his sneakers thumping.
Karen finds Plankton
in his lab, his
eye glued to a
book. She knows
that look, it's his way
of hyperfixating. She
approaches carefully.
"Plankton?" she says
gently.
He jumps a little,
his hands fidgeting
with the pipettes.
"Chip's home," she
continues, watching
his eye flicker to
the doorway, then
back to the beakers.
Chip's
footsteps echo down
the hall, and
suddenly, he's there,
his body
crashing into his
father's in a tight,
unexpected hug.
Plankton's arms
hang at his sides.
"I missed you," Chip
whispers into
his father's chest.
Plankton's body tenses,
his mind racing with
unexpected sensory input.
He tries to focus
on his breath, to
slow it down, but
it's like trying to
swim through
a tornado of stimuli.
Karen gently pries
Chip away, leading
them both to the
living room.
"Is everything ok,
Dad?" Chip asks, his
face scrunched in
concern. Plankton
follows them, his
movements mechanical.
"Just... working
on something
important," Plankton
mutters, his eye
dodging Chip's gaze.
"I'm fine.."
Chip senses the
distance, the
walls Plankton's put
up around himself.
He's seen it before,
but it still stings.
What Chip doesn't
know is that his dad's
autistic.
Plankton fidgets,
avoiding his
son's gaze. "What's
going on?" Chip
asks.
"Dad's just a
little stressed with
work." But Chip's
not buying it. He
notices the way
his father's fingers
tap a staccato rhythm.
Chip tries
to hug Plankton again,
his arms reaching out
like a lifeline. Plankton
flinches, the touch
sending a jolt of
discomfort through
his body. He can't help it;
his senses are already
overwhelmed.
"Chip, please,"
Plankton says, voice
sharp as a tack.
Chip turns to his
father.
"What's wrong, Dad?"
he asks again,
his voice small.
He can't find the
words to explain.
Instead, he does the
only thing he can think
of to relieve the tension:
he prys Chip's arms away,
his movements abrupt.
"Dad?" Chip's voice is
tiny, confused.
Plankton's voice
booms through the room,
sharp and loud. "I said I'm
fine!!"
The echo of his words
hangs in the air, and
Chip shrinks back,
his arms falling to his
sides.
Karen sighs, knowing
it's time to explain.
"Chip," she starts,
"Your dad has something
that makes him..."
"I know,
I know," he interrupts,
his voice tinged with
frustration. "Dad's always
like this. Always lost in his
own world, never..."
"What do you mean 'always
like this'?" Plankton
demands, the words
sharp and pointed.
Chip takes a step
back.
"It's just... you're
always so busy with
work," he stammers.
"I just... I want to
spend time with you."
Plankton's eye widens,
accusation stinging him.
He tries to find the words
to explain, to bridge
the gap between his
autistic brain and his
son's need for connection.
But his thoughts are a jumbled
mess of frustration and guilt.
He loves, but sometimes,
his condition makes it hard
to show it.
"I'm not 'always like this,'"
Plankton snaps, his voice
cracking like a whip.
"You don't understand!"
He slams his fist on the
table.
"I'm sorry," Chip murmurs,
"I didn't mean..."
But his words are
drowned out by the storm
of emotion raging within
his father.
"You think I choose this?"
He gestures wildly.
"I'm not 'always like this'!
You think it's easy?"
Karen's heart aches as she watches
the raw pain flash across Plankton's face.
Chip takes a tentative step forward.
"I just want to understand," he whispers.
He reaches out and gently places his
hand on Plankton's arm.
Plankton's rage doesn't abate,
his arm jerking away as if burned.
"You think you can just fix me
with a pat on the back and a sad puppy look?"
He spat out the words.
"I'm not something to be fixed,"
Plankton says, his voice low and
dangerous. His fist
slams into the table again.
Chip's hand retreats to his side.
"I didn't say you
were," he manages to reply, his voice
shaking. "I just want to be with you."
"You don't
get it," he seethes, his voice rising.
"You can't just come in here and demand
I change for you!" His fists clench, and
the pipettes in his lab coat pockets
clink ominously.
"Dad I don't know what
you're talking about.."
Chip's voice is a mere
whisper, his eyes brimming
with tears. Plankton's anger
doesn't waver. His body
shakes with the intensity
of his emotions, his face
a mask of fury and pain.
"You think you know me?"
Plankton's voice is like
thunder, his words a
torrent of accusation.
"You think you can just waltz
in here and tell me how to
feel, how to act?"
Chip takes a step back.
"I just want to help,"
he says, his voice a barely
audible whisper.
Plankton's sarcasm is
bitter. "Oh, help,"
he mocks, his voice a
parody of sweetness. "You're
so helpful. You know what
help would be? Leaving me
alone!"
"But Dad," Chip starts.
"I don't know what I did
wrong."
Plankton's lashing out at Chip.
"Oh, you're just the picture
of innocence, aren't you?"
he says, his tone a toxic mix
of anger and patronizing.
"Coming in acting
like you know everything,
thinking you can just fix
me with a hug and a
sympathetic look."
Chip feels his cheeks burn.
"I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice cracking.
"You're sorry?" Plankton
repeats, his voice dripping
with disdain. "You're sorry?
What good is sorry?!"
Chip shakes his head.
"You think I don't know
what you're thinking? That I
can't feel your pity?"
He scoffs, a cold, brittle sound.
"You think I don't know
when you look at me like that?"
Chip's meeting
his father's furious gaze. "I
don't..."
But Plankton cuts him off,
his voice a sneer. "Don't lie
to me. I can see it in your
screen. You think I'm some
thing to be
fixed, like one of your toys."
Chip feels like
being crushed by a heavy
weight, his chest tightening
with each of his father's
words. "That's not what I
meant," he stammers.
"You think it's easy
for me, don't you?"
He sneers.
"You think I don't wish
I could just turn it off,
be 'normal' for you?"
"No,
Dad, I... I just want
to understand. And,
turn what off?"
Plankton's eye narrows,
his jaw clenching. "You
don't get it, I can't
just turn off who I am.
I'm not some broken toy!"
"I just want to be with you,"
he repeats, his voice
shaking. "I don't care
if you're not... like other
dads or whatever you're
saying.."
Plankton's anger doesn't
abate, his body stiff as
a board. "You think that's
it?" he sneers. "You think
it's just a matter of me
snapping out of it?"
"I don't know,
Dad," he admits, his voice
breaking. "I just... I want
to spend time with you."
Plankton's face contorts
further, his frustration
boiling over. "You think
that's all it takes?" he
shouts. "You want
quality time?" His voice
cracks.
Chip nods,
desperate for a
connection. "Yes,"
he whispers.
"Quality time," Plankton repeats, his
voice dripping with scorn. "You think
that's all I need, a little 'quality
time' and everything will be fine?
You have no idea what I go through
every day just to pretend to be like
them, for you, for your mother!"
Chip's in shock. He's
never seen his father like this,
so raw and exposed. The room
seems to pulse with Plankton's anger,
each beat a reminder of the distance
between them. "I don't know," Chip says,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't know," Plankton mimics,
his voice dripping with contempt.
"You think it's just a matter of
trying harder, don't you? Like it's
a switch I can just flip?" He starts to
pace the room, his footsteps heavy
and punctuated by his frustration.
"You think I enjoy your pity
parties?"
"Dad, I..." he
whispers, but his voice is lost
in the tempest. "You think
you know what it's like to
be me?" he snarls. "You have
no idea. You're just a child,
playing at being an adult with
your little 'I want to understand'
nonsense."
Karen can't take it anymore.
With a gentle but firm voice,
she steps between them. "Plankton,"
she says, her tone a warning.
"That's enough."
Plankton's rant falters,
his eye meeting hers. For a
moment, he seems lost,
his anger flickering out like a
candle in a gust of wind.
"You don't know what it's like,"
he repeats softer,
anger morphing into a
deep sadness that seeps into
the fabric of the room.
Chip looks up, his screen
glistening with unshed tears.
"Tell me," he pleads. "Help me
understand."
Karen's gaze softens,
and sighs heavily. "Your
dad has something called
Autism," she says gently. "It's like
his brain is wired differently.
It's not good or bad, it just
makes things harder for him
sometimes."
Chip looks up, his
face a canvas of confusion.
"Does that mean he can't love me?"
he asks, the fear in his voice
like a knife.
Karen kneels beside him,
taking his small hand in hers.
"No, baby," she says softly. "It means
his love might look different.
He feels it just as much, but shows
it in his own way."
Plankton stands there, his
body rigid, his eye darting
between Karen and Chip.
"I don't know how to do this,"
he says finally, his voice
cracking with emotion. "I don't
know how to be what you want."
"What do you mean?" he asks,
his voice trembling.
Plankton's eye narrows,
his voice like shards
of ice. "This," he says,
gesturing to his head.
"This... thing inside me
that makes everything
so hard." His hand
gestures to his forehead
as if to punctuate his words.
"This autism!"
Chip looks up with confusion
and a touch of fear. "But
Dad," he says softly, "I don't
see it like that. I don't even
know what Autism is!"
Karen's gaze flickers to
Plankton, who stands
motionless, his jaw clenched.
"It's ok," she reassures her
son. "It's not something
you can see, Chip. It's just
how Daddy's brain works."