I could see him through the door, staring absently at an antique coffee can. After my second knock, I timidly opened the door and announced my presence. Even though the window was cracked, a thick, smoky haze filled the room.

       “Mr. Dixon? It’s me, Denise. Terra sent me. I’ve come to clean for you.”

       He crushed out his cigarette and carefully rose from the kitchen chair, his tall, slender body filling the small room. His typical old-man clothes hung from his limbs like a little boy playing dress-up. I rushed forward and stuck out my right hand. Finding his balance, he reciprocated my gesture and slid his large, soft hand into mine.

       “Well, aren’t you a looker,” he grinned warmly. The pronunciation of each word was slow, calculated, and melodic. His voice was enchanting and reminded me of a time when no one was in a hurry. I was instantly struck by the white perfection of his teeth. Dentures, I concluded. Without releasing my hand, he towered above me and stared deeply into my eyes. “You remind me of a girl I knew, back about, let’s see now, must be over seventy years ago. Mary Callery. That was her name. She was the prettiest girl in school.” 

       I blushed and gingerly removed my hand from his. Wanting to get right to work, I quickly surveyed the tiny house. “So, I’ll start with the bathroom, then do the kitchen, and end with the floors. Is that okay?”

       He nodded his agreement and leisurely made his way to the couch. Terra had been cleaning for Mr. Dixon for a few years but had recently secured full-time work. She insisted I’d be perfect for the job, and I was grateful she offered it to me. I needed the extra cash and to be honest, since my youngest had started school the previous year, I’d been feeling a bit melancholy about what to do with my life.  As Terra had been an exceptional housekeeper and Mr. Dixon wasn’t all that dirty, I found myself cleaning an already clean bathroom.

       “Terra?” I heard Mr. Dixon’s feeble voice call out. Assuming something was wrong; I immediately dropped the sponge and hurried to the living room.

       “It’s Denise,” I said, but he didn’t seem to hear me.

       “Did I ever tell you about the time we got the coffee?” I rounded the couch to face him and was confronted with an incredibly old pair of tear-filled blue eyes. 

       Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t Terra. I sank into the faded grey couch beside him and replied, “No, no you didn’t.”

       His eyes focused on the empty wall in front of him and his shaky voice began. “It was in the middle of the war, the summer of ’42, I think, about a month or so before Dieppe. We were waitin’ for orders and our food truck. We knew somethin’ big was comin’ but we didn’t know what…and we were all a mite nervous about it.” Mr. Dixon paused and methodically ran his hand through his cropped white hair. “Let me tell you,” he continued earnestly, “we were more concerned with the food truck than the orders. The Krauts had the road blocked and we’d already been on rations for over three weeks. The bombers had dropped food in the past, but it was too dangerous for them, and their orders were to stand down.”

       Mr. Dixon lingered in his thoughts and closed his eyes. Frozen in place, unable to fully comprehend the scene playing out before me, I waited for him to continue. Just when I thought he’d fallen asleep, his eyes popped open, he clenched his fists and bellowed: “Damn that bloody war! Didn’t they know we were hungry? We looked like skeletons. How’d they expect us to live and fight on what they were feedin’ us? A potato here, a hunk o’ bread there. We’d already traded everythin’ we could through the fence. There weren’t nothin’ left to trade!”

       As he stared stonily into space, face wet with memories, I struggled to grasp the travesty Mr. Dixon and his comrades must have faced. “I ‘member the ache in my belly like it was yesterday,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “I was…so hungry.” My throat constricted and tears filled my eyes as I stared at the broken man before me.
 
       His shoulders sunk in defeat, and he shook his head in disbelief as he continued. “And then the truck came. That dang truck! We were so happy to see it…but let me tell you, the happiness didn’t last very long.”

       I must admit I was a little taken aback when he shifted his aged body towards me, locked his pale-blue eyes directly onto mine and eagerly grabbed both my hands. “You know what was in that blasted truck? Can you guess? Coffee! Hundreds of cans of coffee! We couldn’t believe it. My stomach felt so sad. My friend Melvin started to cry. Some of the men started yellin’ at the driver and a few fights broke out. There we were, truly starvin’, and they send us coffee…I’ve never forgotten that wretched day…”

       Mr. Dixon released my hands and collapsed back into the couch, exhausted. His long, trembling fingers rose to cover his wrinkled face as he deeply exhaled. Not knowing what to say, I reached over and patted his thin leg. He opened his eyes and looked at me like he’d never seen me before. I could see every imaginable emotion cross his face in an instant before he tenderly smiled and wearily said, “Sorry about that dear. It must be a lot for a youngin’ like you to take in. Them are just old-man stories, nothin’ for you to concern yourself with.”

       He slowly hoisted his frail body from the couch and shuffled his way to the kitchen table. I couldn’t take my eyes from him as I walked back to the bathroom to finish my task. My mind was reeling from what I’d just heard. I quickly completed my work in the lowly, smoke-filled house as Mr. Dixon hummed a faint tune and rolled one cigarette after another from the tobacco stored in his coffee can. 

       “Okay, Mr. Dixon, I’m all done,” I said. I opened the front door, desperate for some fresh air. He casually rose from the chair and reached for his time-worn wallet that was attached by a narrow chain to his belt loop. He winked at me and handed me a fifty.

       My eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, Mr. Dixon, that’s way too much!” I exclaimed.

       “Deary, please,” he half-chuckled. “I’ll be gone soon, and I can’t take it with me. See you next week?”

       Still stunned by the large bill in my hand, I replied “Um, yes,” and turned to go. My head and heart were so full of his poignant story that I turned back to him.  His eyes were already on mine. Terra was right; I was perfect for this job.

       “Mr. Dixon?” I said softly. “Thanks for the chat today. I had a nice time talking with you.”

       He tilted his head a bit and smiled affectionately. “It was nice to meet you too, Denise.” Then he turned and headed back toward his haze-filled kitchen and his beloved coffee can.