Chap­ter XVII takes the group toward the town of Emer­ald, where the pro­tag­o­nist, along with their com­pan­ions, has a sur­pris­ing encounter with Sam­son, the narrator’s sev­en-year-old broth­er. He qui­et­ly stands next to Fish, hold­ing an emp­ty bag of pota­to chips, his silent pres­ence adding to the mys­tery of his char­ac­ter. Lill, who is with the group, is tak­en aback by Samson’s unex­pect­ed appear­ance and learns that he is a qui­et and reserved child, not one to engage in many words. This piques the curios­i­ty of the group, adding an air of sus­pense as they begin to real­ize how unusu­al their sit­u­a­tion tru­ly is. As the chil­dren begin to feel the pangs of hunger, Fish makes a casu­al com­ment about how it’s well past the time for sup­per, high­light­ing their grow­ing need for nour­ish­ment. Lill, a wait­ress at the Emer­ald Truck Stop Din­er, responds to their dis­com­fort by acknowl­edg­ing her tar­di­ness in get­ting food, yet sym­pa­thiz­ing with the group’s strug­gles. She gen­er­ous­ly offers to treat them to a meal, includ­ing a banana cream pie, much to everyone’s sur­prise, par­tic­u­lar­ly Sam­son, who is typ­i­cal­ly shy and doesn’t speak often. How­ev­er, when Sam­son does speak, it is with a deep and husky voice, express­ing his crav­ing for the banana cream pie, which brings a light­heart­ed moment to an oth­er­wise tense atmos­phere. His sim­ple request offers a sense of relief and cre­ates a shared moment of lev­i­ty among the group.

Upon arriv­ing at the din­er, the group is greet­ed by the neon lights that shine bright­ly in the evening, indi­cat­ing a busy and bustling estab­lish­ment. The park­ing lot is filled with numer­ous vehi­cles, sig­ni­fy­ing the pop­u­lar­i­ty of the din­er, and the atmos­phere is live­ly with patrons. Lester, the bus dri­ver, parks the bus in an alley­way behind the din­er, apol­o­giz­ing to the group for not being able to park clos­er to the entrance. Lill, how­ev­er, remains unfazed by the less-than-ide­al park­ing, con­fi­dent­ly lead­ing the group through the alley toward the din­er. As they make their way through the alley, Sam­son walks between Lill and Lester, though his anx­i­ety is appar­ent, his steps still steady. The unease with­in the group grows as the nar­ra­tor spots a hand pro­trud­ing from a pile of dis­card­ed clothes behind a dump­ster, spark­ing imme­di­ate con­cern. Despite Will’s sug­ges­tion that the man might just be drunk, the nar­ra­tor refus­es to ignore the sit­u­a­tion, sens­ing the need to check on him. The narrator’s thoughts turn to Pop­pa, and the vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty he always seemed to car­ry, moti­vat­ing the nar­ra­tor to take action despite the uncer­tain­ty sur­round­ing the man’s con­di­tion. Kneel­ing beside the home­less indi­vid­ual, the nar­ra­tor reach­es out to feel for a pulse, hop­ing to revive him, even as Will looks on with hes­i­ta­tion.

Rather than find­ing hope or reas­sur­ance, the nar­ra­tor is over­whelmed with a voice inside their head, one of deep despair and regret. The man’s thoughts are filled with sor­row, and instead of the expect­ed relief of know­ing some­one is alive, the real­iza­tion of his emo­tion­al tur­moil caus­es the nar­ra­tor to fal­ter. This moment is jar­ring, as the nar­ra­tor real­izes that their abil­i­ty, which they had once seen as a poten­tial means of help­ing oth­ers, only brings them deep­er into the pain of oth­ers. The weight of this real­iza­tion is heavy, leav­ing the nar­ra­tor ques­tion­ing not only their abil­i­ty to help but also the pur­pose of their savvi­ness. They had always thought of their pow­er as some­thing that could be used for good, to aid those in need, but now it seems like a curse, a bur­den too heavy to bear. The encounter leaves the nar­ra­tor grap­pling with feel­ings of help­less­ness and an over­whelm­ing sense of iso­la­tion, as they yearn for a life with­out the emo­tion­al weight of oth­ers’ pain. In this moment, the nar­ra­tor longs to be like their father, Pop­pa, some­one who doesn’t car­ry the weight of the world’s emo­tions. The scene is a pow­er­ful turn­ing point for the pro­tag­o­nist, as it forces them to come to terms with the emo­tion­al cost of their abil­i­ties and the lone­li­ness that often accom­pa­nies them. The real­iza­tion that not all pain can be fixed with their pow­ers leaves the nar­ra­tor ques­tion­ing the very essence of their role in the world.