text: My first time posting here! I'd love to hear what you all think, and please comment if you have something you'd like me to critique as well! \ **THE TAKASHI GENE (2,500 words)** **Year 2020** **Lacey Takashi** Grandma was 130 years old when I began to suspect she might be special. Before her, the longest lived human was Jeanne Louise Calment from France, who lived to the ripe old age of 122 years and 164 days. At 130, Grandma didn’t look a year over 80, and in fact she was looking younger and younger every day. The journalist who popped by for her 130th birthday party saw that, too, and asked my Grandma for her secret sauce. “I do yoga and sudoku everyday,” Grandma said proudly, “and tend to my fruit and veggie garden. Would you like to see my pumpkins? They’re especially plump this time of year.” Myself, my sister Lily, and our cousins challenge her to a game of chess every weekend, and to this day, none of us have been able to beat her. She teaches advanced yoga at the community center, wowing her students with her flexibility. Most of them are a fifth her age. She says she’s sworn off men since Grandpa passed at 89, but I’ve spied a few flirty texts on her iPhone. It’s 2020, and tech billionaires in the Bay Area are hunting for a miracle to keep them alive forever. What they don’t know yet is that the secret might be hiding in my Grandma’s (and maybe all her progeny’s) DNA. Though, like us, they’re also beginning to suspect. We’ve managed to keep Grandma safe from scientists and the like. People who’d love to draw her blood, dissect her genetic make-up, and run DNA tests. Grandma lives with us - my parents, me and my sister, our two boisterous dogs, and our two aloof cats. We try not to let her out of our sight, because deep down we have an almost irrational fear that Big Daddy might one day haul her away for the “good of humankind.” Grandma thought we were being silly. “If I am immortal, why do I still have wrinkles on my face?” \ It wasn’t until Cousin Mauve got diagnosed with leukemia, and Grandma was the only one in our family with a suitable bone marrow, that the scientific community finally got their hands on Grandma. Of course, the doctors had to run blood tests. Of course, her privacy would be ensured. No, no authorised genetic testing will be carried out. We can promise you that. What a crock of bullshit. The doctors were in awe of how physically fit Grandma was. “She’s got the body of a 50 year old,” they said, staring at her like she’d sprouted wings. “She’ll recover from the surgery in no time.” When Grandma was recovering in the hospital, one of us would be by her side every minute, as long as visiting hours allowed. Nasty news reports began to emerge. “CENTENARIAN REFUSES GENETIC TESTING FOR POSSIBLE SECRETS TO IMMORTALITY.” “IS POLLY TAKASHI THE KEY TO EVERLASTING LIFE? WE MIGHT NEVER KNOW.” It infuriated me that they blamed Grandma for this. Grandma seemed on the brink of caving a few times, and asked us if she might help mankind by agreeing to the tests. We told her if anyone was going to get tested, it should be us young’uns, and she should focus on enjoying the rest of her life. In the end, we didn’t authorize testing on Grandma, but we did have to authorize testing on Cousin Mauve to make sure the surgery was a success and her new bone marrow was working properly. That’s how they found out about Grandma. Grandma was discharged in a week and returned home with us. The scientists arrived the next day. One of the doctors, Dr. Howard, was a handsome fellow with dark hair and eyes and a chiseled jaw. I knew from the start he was not to be trusted. I was right. “When running the necessary DNA tests on your cousin Mauve,” he said, “we found something especially peculiar. If you see here, this is Mauve’s DNA before the surgery. And this is her DNA after Ms. Polly’s bone marrow was implanted.” He showed us a chain of DNA sequences, as if we’re expected to have human DNA sequences memorised. “What are we seeing here?” my dad asked, scowling. “Mauve has developed an excess of telomerase enzymes. Mauve had none before the surgery - and now she has the same amount as a newborn infant.” He leans forward. “The telomerase is repairing her telomeres.” There was a moment of silence as this information sank in. Mistaking our silence for confusion, he continued, “Telomerase is -” “We know what they are,” my mom said quietly. We’d been doing some research on possible immortality ourselves, so we knew telomerase repaired cell telomeres - stoppers at the end of cell DNA that prevent cell DNA from getting eroded during replication. Repaired telomeres mean repaired cells. Cells that live forever. Humans that live forever. “What do you want, Dr. Howard?” I demanded. “We only want to run a few tests,” Dr. Howard said calmly, “it will be quick and painless. What do you say, Polly? For the good of humankind?” Grandma scoffed. “What makes you think immortal humans will do more good than mortal humans? Have you watched the news lately?” Dr. Howard stiffened. “Polly, think about what this could mean. Your loved ones could live forever. Your whole family. Your two dogs and cats - maybe they can live forever, too.” “I’m not doing it. You schmucks leave my genes alone. And the ones in Mauve, too.” Dr. Howard smiled. “I’m afraid Mauve has already given us permission to study the cells found in her body.” He leaned into the sofa and crossed his legs. “Technically, they are her cells now.” Grandma’s face turned as red as her prized beets. “They came from my bone marrow -” “Which is now in your grand-niece.” He shrugged. “Just thought we’d ask you first, out of courtesy.” He got up to leave. “Thank you for your time.” Grandma was perplexed after the encounter. “Do you think I’m being selfish, Lacey?” she asked me, her forehead furrowed with worry. “For not sharing my genes?” “No, Grandma. I think you’re right. I’m sorry this is happening.” She sniffled. “What if they do find a way to make humans immortal, Lacey? Which schmucks will get immortal life? The rich and the powerful, that’s who. And they’ll make sure commonfolk won’t get none of it. Should I go to a nice non-profit, Lacey? Maybe they’ll be able to do some good.” Then she said quietly, “Would’ve been nice if your Grandpapa could have lived forever.” “Oh, Grandma...” She looked at me with watery eyes. “Maybe we could all live forever. And then maybe Boots, Snuggles, Nemo and Paul could live forever too. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She looks wistfully at our pets, all of whom are sleeping within ten feet of us. “I agree, that would be nice.” “If we could all live together forever - maybe this immortality thing isn’t such a bad thing, after all.” She squeezed my hand. “Maybe you have the gene too, Lacey?” That had occurred to me a few times - that I might be immortal too. That Mom, Lily, our cousins might be all immortal. “I’d imagine it’d get lonely quickly if I outlived you all,” she chuckled. “Maybe it’s a good thing the scientists found this... mutation.” \ None of us shared the immortality gene. Grandma was an only child, and Mom was hers. Turns out, the gene making Grandma immortal was not passed on to Mom, so it wasn’t passed on to us. Well, Cousin Mauve had it now too, but the scientists didn’t know if it would last. They never found out, because Cousin Mauve died two weeks after the transplant due to “unforeseen complications”. This shook everyone, but it shook Grandma the most. “What if it was my fault?” she asked me, her voice raspy from crying all night. “Lacey, what if my genes killed her?” “Shh, Grandma, the risk was always there. It might’ve happened with another donor, too.” “This is insane, Lacey. This is all insane.” “I agree, Grandma.” Meanwhile, the scientists were hard at work studying Grandma’s genes extracted from Cousin Mauve’s blood. Much to their frustration, they couldn’t find a way to activate the telomerase outside of their original source - Grandma. \ The year Grandma turned 140, Boots, our sweet chihuahua mix, died at the age of 18. The next day, Grandma pulled me aside and asked, “Should I agree to the scientists’ tests, Lacey?” Clearly, she’d been ruminating about this a lot, because I could see the determination in her eyes. She wasn’t asking me because she couldn’t make up her mind. She was asking because she wanted to see how I’d react to a decision she’d already made. “What do you think, Grandma?” “I think perhaps the scientists might be able to do some good with my magical genes, after all. It might be a few years, maybe decades, before they find the key to immortality, but at least that will give them time to - to -” She looked at me, and I understood. “To grant immortality to the rest of us,” I finished for her. She nodded, relieved that I understand. “Exactly.” She patted my hand. “Losing Mauve and Boots was painful enough. I can’t imagine losing anyone else.” \ The scientists welcomed Grandma with wide, open arms. Mom and I accompanied her to their posh medical facility in Southern California, where they promised she would be under the best care, and we would all live like royalty. All transport and food was taken care of, and they arranged tours for us a few times a week. They pampered and adored Grandma - we could see that. All the scientists needed were daily blood draws. She enjoyed beating all her doctors and nurses at chess, going on tours of the Griffith Observatory and Getty Museum, and most of all, thinking that her family might live forever with her. We were forbidden from speaking to the media about the tests, for fear of inciting panic and ethical backlash. The scientists hadn’t worked out the ethical portion of immortality yet. “This is our secret,” Dr Howard told us. “No one else can know.” We lived at the facility for a week before the doctors told us they'd gotten enough blood samples to last them for awhile, and sent us home. “Not gonna lie,” my Grandma said cheerfully as she packed her stuff, “I’m going to miss the lovely California weather.” I heard the uncertainty and fear in her voice. I knew she was hoping they’d have answers for her by now. Dr. Howard and the nurses showed up to say goodbye on our last day. “When will you isolate the Takashi gene?” Grandma asked. The scientists had named the immortality gene after Grandma. It was a huge honor, they insisted, and we should all be so proud. Dr. Howard shook his head sadly. “We don’t know, Polly, but we hope to do it soon.” “When you do, do you promise me that my family will get them first?” Dr. Howard smiled. “Of course, Polly. It’s written in the contract.” She pursed her lips. “After you’ve isolated the gene - how will you determine who else gets it?” “We don’t know yet, Polly. But I assure you, we’ll figure something out. We all want to live forever, Polly. Maybe one day, we all will.” He winked. “I didn’t want to live forever,” Grandma mumbled. Dr. Howard looked taken aback. Then he laughed loudly. It was an obnoxious laugh, the laugh of a person who thought he knew everything. “Everyone wants to live forever, Polly.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you for contributing to the field of science. The world will thank you.” “Don’t thank me, thank my genes.” Then she stared at him, steely eyed. “Whatever happens, make sure the Takashis get the Takashi gene, capiche?” Dr. Howard nodded. “Again, Polly, it’s in the contract.” &#x200B; &#x200B; **Year 2120** **Polly Takashi** I am 230 years old when I began to suspect foul play. Sightings of the rich and powerful started popping up in rumor mills in the past few decades. If alive, those people would be well over 150. I live with my great-grandchildren in sunny California, because this old lady loves the beach. Every weekend, I visit Griffith Observatory with them and watch the holographic planetarium shows about the universe, and another show about humans visiting Mars for the tenth time and our plans to colonize it. Word of my immortal genes has survived within the Takashi family, but I remain the only one with the Takashi gene. For years, I’d resigned to the fact that my genes might end - if my life ever ends - with me. I called Dr. Howard every day for a year. The answer was always the same: “I’m very sorry, Polly, we haven’t isolated the gene yet.” Dr. Howard established the Takashi Research Center of Longevity in Los Angeles in the tenth year. After that, I called every month, then every year, until the stoic receptionist told me Dr. Howard had died. Old age, he said. Dr. Howard would’ve been in his eighties. I called when my son-in-law passed at age 85, my daughter at 97, my sweet grandchildren, my grand-nieces and grand-nephews. They left me one by one, alone and miserable in my lone longevity. But I continued to live, because I now have great-grandchildren, great-grandnieces and nephews, two spunky maltese and two sweet ginger cats. I had trusted Takashi Research Center of Longevity with my genetic matter for the past hundred years, up until I saw a news report on holoTV that Bill and Melinda Gates were sighted in the Maldives. “Is it true? Was it really Bill and Melinda Gates strolling hand in hand along the beach? Reports say they look not a day over thirty. If they are the Bill and Melinda Gates we know who changed the computing world, they should be over 200 years today. Who are these Gates Doppelgangers? This is Heidi Fink reporting for CNN.” Everyone thought the news channels were being ludicrous. No one lives that long! No one except Polly Takashi, oldest centenarian known to man. No one knew about the Takashi gene. The Takashi family, myself included, is forbidden from telling anyone under a confidentiality agreement we signed many years ago. But the confidentiality agreement is only valid for as long as it’s renewed. Last year, the law firm handling this confidentiality agreement went out of business. Tomorrow, the confidentiality agreement expires. Tomorrow, I will visit the Takashi Research Center of Longevity and demand the truth. I’ll need no introduction - they’ll recognize me from the honorary statue of me erected in their lobby in 2021. Tomorrow, I will ask why I saw Dr. Howard at the Griffith Observatory two weeks ago. He had a new nose, lighter eyes, blond hair instead of black, but I’d recognize him anywhere. He was a splitting image of Dr Howard a hundred years ago. I’m not kidding myself. I know I won’t get any answers. I just want to scare them a little. A 230 year old woman finds amusement wherever she can. Which is why I will be making calls to the several journalists before I leave for the Research Center. Journalists who’ve become my dear friends at my oldest-woman-alive birthday parties. Journalists who will find answers for me.