An Accidental Mother by Katherine Anne Kindred Read Free Book Online Page A

clap and cheer for Elliott, and from time to time, when his performance wasn’t the best, we’d say, “Hang in there, Elliott!”
    Soon the contenders were performing in a full concert hall with a much larger audience and a whole new set of pressures. We progressed from thumbs-up or-down to high-fiving, cheering, and whooping after each of Elliott’s performances. Although I had instigated this game more for Michael’s entertainment than my own, I had become attached to the idea of Elliott as the next American Idol. The first week his vote tally put him in the bottom, my heart sank. Later that night, alone in my bedroom and for the first time ever, I dialed the toll-free number to cast my vote for an
Idol
contestant. Initially my plan was never to admit it to anyone, not even on my deathbed. Any person who would sit around and watch a silly television show and then actually phone in votes must not have much of a life, I thought. But days later I sheepishly confessed to a friend that I had actually called in and placed a vote for Elliott. “Isn’t that silly?” I asked.
    â€œAre you kidding? Last week I voted for Chris, Catherine, and Elliott!” she told me.
    That week the front page of the local newspaper reported that the show was averaging thirty-three million viewers each week and that on the previous night forty-five million votes had been cast. What was the population of the United States? I wondered. What percentage of our population was watching
American Idol
? And if there were 27 percent more votes than watchers, how many times were these people calling in? I didn’t know if the thought that I was not alone in the mania comforted me or made me feel like I was just one of several million suckers.
    We were into the final weeks, with only four players left and Elliott one of them. Michael and I clapped and cheered at Elliott’s stellar performance. This close to the finale, the challengers were allowed two performances. As expected, everyone did well, but Elliott, the underdog, with nowhere to go but up, came alive. When his song was finished, the audience was on its feet. While I started clapping and cheering, Michaelbegan to jump up and down on the sofa in joy. I turned to him and yelled, “Way to go, Elliott!” and lifted my hands to him for a high-ten. He slapped mine in return and kept jumping on the sofa (something that would not normally be allowed) as I jumped up and down on the floor.
    At the end of the show I sent Michael upstairs to finish getting ready for bed. A few minutes later I stepped into his room to watch his organization of the stuffed animals into the hierarchy only he understands.
    Pulling the blankets up to his chin, he asked, “Kate, what should I dream about?”
    I thought for a moment and then began in my usual dramatic way, eyes wide open, speaking with long, drawn-out pauses.
    â€œIt’s tomorrow night … we get home from your baseball game … we turn on the television … and we hear … the announcer … say,
‘Elliott! You’re through to the next round!’
”
    â€œKate! That’s not a dream!”
    â€œBut it is! It’s a good dream! Besides, we have toroot for Elliott so someday we can listen to his CD, just like we used to listen to Kelly Clarkson’s! Did you know she was the first American Idol?”
    Michael nodded regarding Kelly but had more questions about Elliott. “But Kate, why can’t we just get his CD now?”
    â€œBecause he doesn’t have one yet. And he’ll only get to make one if he wins. So we have to keep rooting for him if we want him to be the next American Idol.”
    Michael stopped to think about this for a moment.
    â€œKate!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I have a better idea!”
    â€œWhat is it, honey?” I asked; he had my full attention.
    Michael began to mimic my dramatic storytelling style, with long pauses and