The Gene Test

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I am nervous, not sure what I want the results to be. That is why I had put off taken it. Most do at eighteen. I waited until I was twenty-one.

It will change my life, no matter the outcome. Future planning for the next sixty years or two hundred. You can see why it is a big deal, this test?

My parents both carry the gene. The odds are that I do are strong. I am not sure how to feel about it.

The old ones run things. It makes sense, in a way. They are gifted by God with long life. They have the knowledge. If I am part of that group, my education will change. I will be trained for governing, as a doctor, a lawyer, or a religious occupation. Those are the careers that 99% of the old ones work in. The man anyway.

My mom, like hers before her, had children. Lots of children. I am the youngest of twelve. My granny had 16. I will be expecting to marry another old one, chose one of the chosen careers, and father children.

My fingers twist in my lap as I wait for the doctor to come in. He, at a hundred and sixty, is well respected in his field. Unlike a lot of the old ones, he doesn’t  stand proud and understands the curse as well as the blessing of holding the gene. It is why I chose him.

My sister had wept with joy at finding out she doesn’t carry the gene. In love with another normal, as those with average life scans are called, she is now free to marry him. So far, she is the only one not carrying the gene. I am the last to be tested.

It isn’t love that has me nervous. Nor a career outside the ones that will be chosen for me if I am positive, I want to be a lawyer.

I am not sure what makes me want the test to be negative. Maybe I don’t want my sister to be alone? That could be. It is more though.

Maybe just the wish to be normal, not to be under anyone’s  expectations for my life. I might want to have just a few kids and give them the attention that my dad wasn’t able to give me.

The doctor comes in. I sit up straighter and force my nerves down.

“As you know , this gene was discovered by accident, five hundred years ago,” he begins. Any school child knows that but I know he is required to give the history before the results, “Named the longevity gene, it is now more commonly called, the old one gene. Those that have it live to be two hundred.” He sighs before going off script, “a blessing to some and a curse to others.

“It seemed a miracle at the time. Most of us olds stay healthy. We aren’t as burdened with the diseases that used to cause the elderly such grief. The tradeoff, we see those we love, who don’t  carry the gene, die. We are revered and honored for simply being. A hard lot to carry.”

“Doctor, would you change it if you could?” I ask.

“Yes, I would. I have had a remarkable life but, I am tired. Forty more years seems to much more.”

Surprisingly, the rate of suicide is very low in the old ones. It seems that it is considered a bigger waste then it is for the normals.

“You won’t …”

He looks startled, as if coming out of a trance. Shaking his head, he says, “No. Of course not. I can bare it.” He takes a seat in the stool. “Forgive me for getting off topic. You want your results.”

“Do I?”

Looking down, he reads the results. Then he looks up. “I’m sorry. You are…”

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⏰ Last updated: Oct 30, 2023 ⏰

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