Searching for Tina Turner Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Call Hunan City, Camille, and have them deliver. My photography class starts tonight.”
    “Starless, Mother.” Camille’s tone is matter of fact and insistent— use the name I’ve chosen, it says, not the one you gave
     me. No matter how hard Lena tries to accommodate Camille’s recent capriciousness, her younger child’s desire to change her
     given name is not easy to accept.
    “Mom, Starless.”
    Most days, Camille is cranky. Cranky and reclusive. How can she criticize her child for the very behavior she is guilty of?
     The discontent that started last fall continues. Lena longs for the two of them to be close again. Either way, come September,
     she’ll shed tears when she walks past the door of Camille’s disused room or when the clock’s hands sweep close to the normal
     hour her daughter would come home from school. For seven months Camille has been searching for answers. This new name, Starless,
     Camille told her parents, signified her preparation for college and separation from them. Her given name, she constantly reminds
     them, no longer reflects who she is. She is without a fixed point: one foot almost in college, one foot at home.
    Camera in hand, Lena kneels on the floor and unscrews the lens cap. She points the camera upward at Camille’s heart-shaped
     face, plays with the f-stop, and adjusts the shutter speed. Snap. Wind. Snap. Camille shrugs, seemingly equating the prospect
     of Lena’s class and the possibilities of Chinese food equally dull. Her resemblance to Lena, save for her demonstrative hands
     and round eyes, lessens each year. But still, Camille resembles Lulu’s side of the family more than Randall’s: small bones,
     an imperceptible smatter of freckles between her eyebrows, clear skin, and oversized teeth that fit well with her lips when
     she smiles.
    “I think I’ll puke if I have to eat Chinese food again.” Camille’s hint of a grin slips quickly to a pout. “You’ve hardly
     cooked since Dad left. Kendrick and I have to eat, too.”
    “I’ll rustle something up before I leave. Maybe I’ll bring back ice cream.”
    Camille turns her back and heads down the hall. “And I need cat litter.”
    The almost nine months since Randall gave her Kimchee on her birthday have made Camille more demanding, not responsible. Her
     room is a mess, and she rarely makes it to school on time. Tomorrow Lena will chauffeur Camille to the store because she refuses
     to learn how to drive and complains when she has to carry sacks of cat litter on the bus. Camille will take the two twenty-dollar
     bills Lena will hand her to buy cat litter and a few extra items for her pet, and perhaps wander beyond that store to buy
     something for herself. Lena will sit in the car and read about Tina while Camille considers which of the fourteen generic
     and specialty brands of cat litter is the best for her precious Kimchee.
    Ba-boom, ba-boom.
    “Kendrick!” If she could remember where her cell phone is, she would call Kendrick because she would have a better chance
     to reach him that way. Lena grabs two tall containers from her purse and jams them into her pocket. She walks down the staircase,
     a half-circle of seventeen regular and five pie-wedge stairs that end at the front hallway, and continues to a second, shorter,
     and straight flight that stops at the open door of the family room. “Turn that down, please.”
    Eight of Kendrick’s friends loll on the floor, the couch, and the recliner. They greet Lena in unison, while their eyes focus
     on the TV and two wrestlers in skimpy underwear entangled in the ring.
    “Chill, Moms. This is the no-nag zone.” Kendrick is at the door in two lengthy strides. His body is lanky like his father’s
     once was. He is tall, taller than Randall is now. He has his father’s thick curly hair, high and sunken cheekbones passed
     down from Choctaw ancestors, a narrow forehead. His large ears, his dimples, his smooth brown skin are his father’s. At