Hysteria

               To look at him was to feel this sense of foreboding; he was an astute man, who seemed to look through you and into your mind.  "Tressa Reynolds..." The judge looked at me squarely with no hint of pity in his transparent eyes.  This realization hit me: my fate was going to be chosen by these strangers, and my false sense of control vanished.
               My parents were teenagers in 2042 when a single discovery would permanently change the game of life.  DNA could be extracted at birth and used to predict an individual's medical history based on their immune system and the chances of developing a genetic disorder or illness; euthanasia had been legalized in all fifty states and most nations.  Parents had a choice to "protect" their children from suffering later on.  The practice grew to acceptability, and the topic became noncontroversial until I was born in 2061.
               The doctors who delivered me explained to my biological parents that I was going to develop cancer at the age of seventeen, and the option of "protecting" me was presented to them with an expectation for the answer. The answer they received was not to be expected; my parents wanted to raise me and give me a chance to live my life.  It was labeled child neglect to keep me alive, and I was removed from their custody, adopted and raised by Sephia and Hayden Reynolds.
               Annual checkups were necessary to monitor my health, and as a junior, they detected a mass below my heart, which was found to be benign and removed.  This seemed to be a sign the DNA results were wrong; maybe I was not going to get cancer.  My closest friend, Trace, was as relieved as my parents and I that it looked like I wasn't going to die.  He walked me to class like any other day, but there was something unique that time that I couldn't quite tell what it was.  "Tressa?" he claimed my attention.
"Yes?" I queried with no response. "Yes?" I repeated myself like a parrot.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" I smacked him on the arm to elicit a response.
"Ow!" he sarcastically rubbed his shoulder, "I'll tell you when you're older."
"I'm older now."
He just shrugged, "Meet me at Sonny's after school."
            "That's it?" I hurried to the little diner after school, where we got our usual root beer floats, but he refused to let me pay for my own that time. That Friday, we took his neighbor's kids to the park on their anniversary.
"Question." I peered at him on the swing next to me.
"Answer." he responded.
"What if it isn't gone?" I worried.
"What? Oh, it is." He knew what I'd implied.
"But what if..." I trailed off.
He took my hand- and without dropping it- said, "Then, we'll fight it." and effectively closed the subject.
About a month later, we were studying for our first semester finals, and he stroked my fingers silently under Hayden, my father's, watchful gaze.  I glanced at him but saw no change in his expression.  A few minutes later, he did it again, and I watched him carefully until he gave me a questioning look.  I went back to my books and felt the brush of fingers again.  I looked at him, sure I saw the ghost of a smirk.  Then, he did it again, stifling a laugh.
"You're a dork." I whispered to him.
"What did I do?" he asked, the picture of innocence. My mother, Sephia, entered the room with dinner, and the conversation reached its end.
Our senior year I got sick a month before my eighteenth birthday, and I had malignant cancer in my stomach, intestines and bladder. Time stopped when I walked into the waiting room to tell Trace what they found and overheard whispers.
"...Yes..."
"...No..."
"Maybe so, but..."      
"But they can't kill you!" Trace spluttered for the whole waiting room to hear.
"Sshh!"
"But they can't." he insisted again, "You've got to be too close to being a legal adult."
"I don't know."
"Trace, son, it's best you go home now.  We need to speak to Tressa in private. This is a family matter." My father spoke firmly.
After he left, my mother spoke, "Tressa, you know we love you, so we spoke with several professionals regarding this subject before this even came to light. And we have decided euthanasia is the best course of action to spare you from a long and difficult process."
"No!" I argued.
"This is not something we want to watch you go through unnecessarily." My father interjected.
"This isn't unnecessary though. I'll be eighteen in a month. Shouldn't this be my decision?"
"We're your parents; trust us to know what is best for you. Wouldn't you rather be in a better place?"
"Yes, but not without having at least fought first."
A week later, we sat in a legal consult, where it was found that I could attempt to repeal the decision in court. The likelihood that I would win seemed slim, but I took the opportunity.  The following week I stood outside the courtroom doors dressed as best as I could be in a simple, black dress with wedges, waiting for them to review my case and then bring me in.  An officer held the door open silently, and I entered a large, white room.  The room was white in the most literal sense with its white, marble floors, white, stone walls, white stands, desks, benches, and there was the judge. He was a man in his fifties, bald, and mostly nondescript; the room seemed to match him with his fair skin, hair, and seemingly colorless, grey eyes with silver framed glasses that blended in.
"Tressa Reynolds." He eyed me up and down with an expressionless face.
"Yes?" I couldn't size him up.
"Present your points."
"Right now?" I'd imagined they would question me.
"Time is of the essence." He spoke with a deadpan that was not quite a monotone.
I stepped to the stand under the watchful eyes of my parents, their lawyer, Trace, and the jury. "As you all know, I will become eighteen in two weeks, and I have requested that my own life be put in my hands.  Cancer is something that our ancestors struggled to fix unsuccessfully, but some still survived.  There were and still are treatments available, which I am prepared to take on if it means continuing to live the life that my birth parents gave to me.  I believe that death in this manner should be chosen by the individual with no undesired influences.  This is a matter of life and death- my life that has value.  I want to do something extraordinary with it, but that can't happen if you don't give me a fighting chance."
I was interrupted by my father, "You will be eighteen in two weeks.  Are you ready to pay for these so-called treatments?  Are you prepared to make these decisions for yourself?"
"Objection!" I begged the judge.
"Go on." He motioned to my father.
"Think about the resources and money that would be wasted if you were to die anyway. Is that something you want to be responsible for?"
"This isn't a matter of 'want to.' I didn't ask for this. If I had what I wanted, I would be perfectly healthy right now."
"Objection!" my parents' lawyer demanded.
"Overruled." The judge nodded at the lawyer.
"You don't have to suffer." My mother begged, "We love you. This defect is nothing we ever wished for you."
"Then you shouldn't have adopted me." I answered.
"See? She clearly lacks the maturity or respect to make a clear decision regarding this matter."
"What if I want to do something with my life?" I insisted. "Maybe I'll become a doctor like I want to or a physical therapist or a counselor."
"How can you think those things will be in your future? Your body is insistent on killing you!" my father fought with me.
"Order!" The judge slammed his gavel once, and the entire building calmed. "The jury will now have a recess to choose your fate."
Outside, Trace held my shoulders and steadied me, "You did fine." he reminded me. "The jury can't just forget your reasoning."
"Right." I was sure they would be most likely to remember my father's yells.
"Listen, it's going to be fine. After this, we'll go to Sonny's and decide from there what we'll do. You'll get through this. This is just the hard part."
I nodded my head and led him back inside as my case number was called.  I sat in silence as the jury spoke for some time about how both sides had logical reasoning, and the decision was a difficult one. Finally, one woman in her black robes stood and announced their final verdict once the votes were counted.  "However persuasive each side may have been, there was one that stood out.  Congratulations, Tressa. You're getting your fighting chance."