It was my thirteenth birthday party. The pizzeria was full. Kids occupied every table. The noise was overwhelming

I saw Greta right away. She stands out from any background because of her waist-length silver hair. There is more to it, though. She has a way of drawing attention when she wants to, without saying a word. She smiled at me, and I made my way to the table where she was dishing out pizza. If she had wanted the room to be quiet, it would have been quiet, but I knew she was enjoying the cacaphony.

Maybe that’s why Greta became our nanny. Kids can be depended on to produce plenty of noise, and Greta rides their voices like a surfer on a wave. When she is surrounded by children, whether they’re laughing or crying, shouting or screaming, she looks genuinely happy.

I don’t think our parents realized Greta was a witch. They just appreciated how we children loved her, how eager we were for her arrival every morning. She reported to work with her hair tucked into her hat, and it wasn’t until both parents had left for their own jobs that she removed the hat, let her hair fall in glowing waves, and pulled out her magic hairbrush.

 We loved watching Greta brush her hair. As she stroked each glittering strand, we sat entranced. What would happen when the brush reached the end of its journey?  Sometimes a shower of diamonds appeared –  sometimes a bird or two, or a rabbit. By the time Greta was done, the room was full to bursting of creatures and treasures.

We children spent the next few minutes leaping and laughing, loving our adventure. Then the eldest girl (that’s me!) was dispatched to open the door and set the  animals free. After all, it wouldn’t do for Mother and Father to come home and find a rabbit or a flock of finches cavorting about the house.

As for the jewels, we all took turns holding handfuls of glittering gems over Greta’s head, then letting them go. As they fell, the treasures disappeared, finding their hiding place in the silver waves of her hair.

We were the luckiest children in the world. Now that I’m grown and have children of my own, it is my great joy that Greta, still as young (silver hair notwithstanding) and vital as ever, arrives at our door every morning, promptly at eight.

Note: My story was written in response to this online writing prompt: .
A nanny who is also a witch; a pizzeria just for kids; a hairbrush.

Written by Sandra Leigh

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