A male's voice.

My grandmother was said to be the most beautiful woman in my hometown. Not too tall, not too short, black-haired, warm colored skin and big dark eyes, she was smart as well and started her first job with a communication company - her voice was as beautiful indeed. She felt in love with a male's voice. She had never seen his face, but his voice captured hers...and there begins their love story.

My grandfather was as likely, funny man, but he was also a possessive husband with his beautiful wife. They met at a phone call. And after his calls, permissions to talk to her, they finally set a date. He was the youngest brother of a ten children family. He also played soccer at a state college team and painted stories from the bible...until he could paint her.

She lived out on a farm, but somehow she always did what must be done regarding hair, cosmetics, clothing. Her sister could sew like devil. So then, they could be their own stylists. She married my grandfather and moved out of farm. She wanted to get out of there, so marring him was the perfect situation. They had a bohemian life. They loved go out to balls. Dancing the salons all night long, with the most unique dresses spinning around the floor dance. And the crowd would watch stunned. My grandfather became a local politician, participating of social causes and business. He taught he could change the way things were. But his passion for art had to be left behind. And so he did. And he pursuid his political career adding the biggest impact on me...that he couldn't be alive to see.

These are my grandparents stories: that I use to love for their fairy-tale logic. I also loved the glamour that they lived their lives, and that I was the grandaughter of a beautiful grandmother. But gradually I began to grow and live my own fairy tale. When he died I stopped trusting in happy ends and every time my mother would talk me into "be or not to be" I would change the subject.

My gradma survived strong enough to teach me how to dance at balls. And I followed her on journeys nobody ever wanted, and would be her company at parties. My grandpa died from depression, not because he failed....but because people failed on him. Because he knew that a beautiful wife, and family could not stop him from death. Because he was too discreet to recognize his own beauty. And might have needed more attention.

My mother thinks I'm being silly. She's only partly right.