One Saturday morning when I was 14, I was bored so I rode my bike to Lake Geneva to play pinball. It was January, the temperature was zero degrees, and the roads were covered with ice, but I was 14 and none of that mattered. I wanted to play pinball.

I had a dollar and sixty-four cents on me, and I figured that was plenty. I remember the amount because I had calculated exactly what it would buy me: six quarters meant 18 games of pinball; four pennies would buy two pieces of Bazooka—one for each leg of the bike trip—and a dime left to call home if anything happened.

It didn’t cost much to play pinball in Lake Geneva because there were always these fat idiot suckers from Chicago who would put a quarter in the machine, play one game, and then leave. They didn’t realize that a quarter bought you three games. So I’d watch them play, and when they’d left, I’d wait until they were out of sight and then play their other two games. That’s why you could play all day for free.

But I forgot one thing. In January there aren’t any suckers from Chicago. They don’t visit Lake Geneva arcades in the winter. So I arrived to find the pinball place pretty much empty. I’d have to spend my own money if I wanted to play.

So I thawed out for a few minutes, then put a quarter in my favorite machine, which was called Domino. I’m pretty good at pinball, so I played for about 15 minutes on that first quarter. The place was still empty, so I shelled out another quarter. And then another. And another. I played until all my quarters were gone. And then I had no choice but to head back for Beloit, out of money less than two hours after I’d arrived.

Once I got started on the ride home, I realized something else. There was a strong headwind blowing. I hadn’t really noticed it on the way to Lake Geneva because it was at my back, helping me along. But now the wind was in my face, slowing me down and making me really, really cold.

I also realized I was very hungry. I hadn’t taken the time to eat anything all day, and now it was mid-afternoon. I pedaled past a McDonald’s in Delavan and I still remember how great it smelled from the icy road. But I was broke—couldn’t even afford a small fries. I also passed an A&W, and the Hernandez Mexican restaurant. I saw a waiter bringing a basket of chips to some customers inside. Why couldn’t I have saved fifty cents for the ride home?

It took several hours of pedaling into the miserable wind before I finally got to Tiffany, a little town that was six miles from home. My hands were numb; my feet were frozen; and it was already getting dark outside. The restaurant at Tiffany was open, and I decided to go in even though I had no money. I knew the people there and thought maybe they’d be willing to give me a cheeseburger on credit if I promised to come back with the money right away.

I staggered in the door to the restaurant and the warm air actually made my face and hands hurt, it was such a change from the outside air temperature. I sat down at a stool at the counter. Keith, who owned the restaurant, was at the grill.

“Well, look who’s here!” said Keith. “You’re a little late for breakfast!”

He said that because he usually only saw me on Sunday mornings when I showed up for breakfast with Moop and the Geezer.

“What can I get you?” asked Keith.

“Well, actually,” I said, “I don’t have any money right now. But I was wondering if it would be OK if I had a cheeseburger and brought you the money later today.”

Keith paused for a second, like he was figuring out whether it was worth the risk. And then he said something that really surprised me:

“You don’t need any money,” he said. “Your dad came by earlier and told me you’d be here later on, and he paid for two cheeseburgers for you. In advance. And a Dr. Pepper.”

I was stunned. What incredible luck! And it was really strange because I didn’t think my dad even knew where I was going that day, and he almost never came to Tiffany on a Saturday. But I wasn’t going to question that kind of a windfall. I happily accepted the two cheeseburgers and I thoroughly enjoyed my Dr. Pepper.

But later I started wondering, just who was my benefactor that day? Did the Geezer really pay for those cheeseburgers, or was Keith just being a nice guy? The Geezer wasn’t there when I got home an hour later, and when I asked him about it the next day, he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. What do you think?