Two years ago, if you'd ask me what it takes to be Naomi, I'd reply: "One teaspoon of pride, two tablespoons of honesty, a bowl full of love, quarter teaspoon of courage, and a cup of fresh caffè e latte every morning", and I would have said so with a warm gentle smile, and a basket of freshly baked muffins and cupcakes; if I had a way, I'd have thrown in a coupon or two along with the treats.

But now, the question: "what does it take to be Naomi?", would leave you drowned in vertigo, literally.

So, Naomi right? Which is she, Will of steel, cunning with a hammering persona, or is she gullible, lovely, kind and sweet? Is it one, neither, or both?

Who would've Jeremy wanted me to be? To Lara and Laura, what better fit suits their mother?

Questions. It all ends with more questions birthing more questions that I find myself wrapped in threads, and dizzy.

Though Jeremy was a direct compliment to the first edition of Naomi: the gentle-sweet kind. Unlike every other men I've met, Jeremy attracted me in ways that left me intertwined with knotted thoughts, disdain, and a smile.

Butterflies are an understatement to the dragons that leapt in my stomach that summer.

That summer...

My stinging pain in place, dark brown oiled and glimmering skin —I had been baked to crisp by the sun, a little result for being a bit careless. Our meeting was a note out of place, orchestrated by Cupid. Even sometimes I did wonder if the diaper-less baby's arrow ricocheted on Jeremy's original soul mate, and struck the shy bikini-cuddled me in the butt.
The moment I saw him, he was the kinda guy girls spend nights shrieking and gasping over his blurry photograph, while dropping cents in a wishing well. I gave up fifteen of mine: he spilled it, if so to say.

This warm summer afternoon had a slight taste to it, compared to the rest best referred to as "stale", with full disclosure of the fact that I get to be in my world, but not in my prime. This summer was unique, as I attempted to voyage the peaks of my prime.

Lost in symphony, I struck each strings with so much power and sincerity, while scaling up and down the notes of "amazing grace". It was real to me, and that alone mattered. I had enough practice beforehand, to correct any possible hiccup when I went public.
" ...you saved a wretch like me... I once was lost, but now I'm found!"
Gratitude was how I expressively ran my bow over the delicately stringed violin.
At a few points, I was tempted to do more than hum and run the lines of the song in my head, but I was carefully afraid of not ruining my show –if you wanna put a tag on my public performance.

I had earlier found an empty tuna can, and that served as a good holding for the tips I was receiving for my spirited play. And of course, coins –cents –were the generous donations I received.

And no, it was not about the money. Nothing pumps joy into the cold dark heart of an artist, than having an audience to share their wonder with, and receiving recognition, strings you in a spot far above the cloud. It's pure ecstasy.

Real heavenly..... too heavenly I'd say. I couldn't contain it anymore, and had to pave way for the free gushes of caged words hanging from my lips.

"Was blind but now, I s—"

My wondrous free flowing harmony was short lived, murdered, by a crazy running man.

It wasn't long til I found my butt crash landing on the hard concrete walkway of the street of Brooklyn. I can't explain what happened: he might have been excited, escaping someone, or trying hard not to miss something. His reason didn't matter, he had hit me, and it hurt like crazy.

He was laying next to me, with splattered pieces of copper coins spread about on the floor. He groaned and dragged himself up.

He was a mess. Darkening heavy bags below his eyes, sparingly fitted behind his glasses. He was a nerdy mess, with strong arms of a weekend-only gym visitor, firm chiseled jawline, engulfing forest green eyes, red hot tanned skin, and a wood brown khaki shorts. Did I mention he had glasses on?

"The hell!"
I struggled up, before he could offer any form of aid that'll make me a bit guilty for the garnished anger I was ready to serve.

"I'm so so sor—"
He was already up, with his arms offered to help me up.
"Ouch!"
He imitated the sound supposed to be from the bow I was forcing out from under me.

"Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me!"
My bow was snapped in two, but held together by the horse tail attached to each end.

"Ouch!"
He said it again, and squeezed his head inward as though he also felt the pain it felt.

I felt mocked.

"You jerk!"
I threw the dangling bit of the broken bow at his face. Feel that pain bitch!
I jerked up, and went to pick up my violin. After a thorough examination, I went to face my assailant.

He looked a bit nervous, and obviously had his rightful constituted share of the pain.

"I was a bit late — I needed to get somewhere — I didn't expect anyone... I'm sorry!"
He apologized.
"Let me make this all up to you, please!"

"Get me a new violin bow, and we'll say no more words about this, again!"
I scoffed, and began searching my body for bruises or any injury.

He noticed my preemptive body examination.
"Coffee should help with the pain –"
I shot him a nasty look.
"Aspirin helps too."
He smiled sheepishly, and looked me deeper in the eye.
"So, coffee? I know this great spot, it's just a block from here."

"Fine!"
I responded as bratty as I could.
What can I say, I'm a sucker for glasses and an handsome man.

Cupid is truly a bitch!

I went on my knees and gathered my spilled warm donations from my kind listeners. Fifteen cents, were the total of what I counted. If it were about the money, I'd have been dreadfully disappointed, and would possibly quit music as it held no gain.

"Just this once alright?"
I added as I jerked to my full towering height, and took the lead. He hurried closer, and we were on the same pace.

"I'm Jeremy, what do I call you?"

"My mother warned me to never give a stranger my name."
I acted to show how much irritated and angry I was. He got the gist, and simply giggled.

Fast forward: he got my name and number that day, we went on a few real dates later, and finally, he said the magic "I love you" words, slipped commitment down my finger, and I said "I do!" So did he, and we were on a for-better-or-for-worst quest, up until death did us apart.

Few weeks after he and our two beautiful daughters went on a road trip of six feet under and beyond the terrestrial, another mail made it all shatter.

"This is the bank. We will now be taking full custody of Mr Jeremiah Mest Jefferson's assets, which also includes liquid assets and its related documents. If there is any form of opposition to this, there will be a hearing at the...court, on... Thank you."