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Missing Mile； North Carolina； in the summer of 1972 was scarcely more than a wide spot in the road。 The main street was shaded by a few great spreading pecans and oaks； flanked by a few even larger； more sprawling Southern homes too far off any beaten path to have fallen to the scourge of the Civil War。 The ravages and triumphs of the past decade seemed to have touched the town not at all； not at first glance。 You might think that here was a place adrift in a gentler time； a place where Peace reigned naturally； and did not have to be blazoned on banners or worn around the neck。
You might think that； if you were just driving through。 Stay long enough； and you would begin to see signs。 Literal ones like the posters in the window of the record store that would later bee the Whirling Disc； but was now still known as the Spin'n'Spur。 Despite the name and the plywood cowboy boot above the door； those who wanted songs about God； guns； and glory went to Ronnie's Record Barn down the highway in Corinth。 The Spin'n'Spur had been taken over； and the posters in the window swarmed with psychedelic patterns and colors； shouted crazy； angry words。
And the graffiti： STOP WAR with a lurid red fist thrusting halfway up the side of a building； HE IS RISEN with a sketchy； sulkily sensual face beneath that might have been Jesus Christ or Jim Morrison。 Literal signs。
Or figurative ones； like the shattered boy who now sat with the old men outside the Farmers Hardware Store on clear days。 In another life his name had been Johnny Wiegers； and he had been an open…faced； sweet…natured kid； most of the old…timers remembered buying him a candy bar or a soda at some point over the years； or later； cadging him a couple of beers。 Now his mother wheeled him down Firehouse Street every day and propped him up so he could hear their talk and watch the endless rounds of checkers they played with a battered board and a set of purple and orange Nehi caps。 So far none of them had had the heart to ask her not to do it anymore。
Johnny Wiegers sat quietly。 He had to。 He had stepped on a Vietcong land mine； and breathed fire； which took out his tongue and his vocal cords。 His face was gone to unrecognizable meat； save for one eye glittering mindlessly in all that ruin； like the eye of a bird or a reptile。 Both arms and his right leg were gone； the left leg ended just above the knee； and Miz Wiegers would insist on rolling his trouser cuff up over it to air out the fresh scar。 The old…timers hunched over their checkers game； talking less than usual； glancing every now and then at the raw； pitiful stump or the gently heaving torso； never at the mangled face。 All of them hoped Johnny Wiegers would die soon。
Literal signs of the times； and figurative ones。 The decade of love was gone； its gods dead or disillusioned； its fury beginning to mutate into a kind of self…absorbed unease。 The only constant was the war。
If Trevor McGee knew any of this； it was only in the fuzziest of ways； sensing it through osmosis rather than any conscious effort。 He had just turned five。 He had seen Vietnam broadcasts on the news； though his family did not now have a TV。 He knew that his parents believed the war was wrong； but they spoke of it as something that could not be changed； like a rainy day when you wanted to play outside or an elbow already skinned。
Momma told stories of peace marches she'd gone to before the boys were born。 She listened to records that reminded her of those days； made her happy。 When Daddy listened to his records now； they seemed to make him sad。 Trevor liked all the music； especially the jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker； who Daddy always called Bird。 And the song Janis Joplin sang with his daddy's name in it。 〃Me and Bobby McGee。〃
Trev wished he could remember all the words； and sing the song himself。 Then he could pretend it was just him and his daddy driving along this road； without Momma or Didi； just the two of them。 Then he could ride up front with Daddy； not stuck in the back with Didi like a baby。
He made himself stop thinking that。 Where would Momma and Didi be； if not here？ Back in Texas； or the place they had left two days ago； New Orleans？ If he wasn't careful he would make himself cry。 He didn't want his mother or his little brother to be in New Orleans。 That city had given him a bad feeling。 The streets and the buildings were dark and old； the kind of place where ghosts could live。 Daddy said there were real witches there； and maybe zombies。
And Daddy had gotten drunk。 Momma had sent him out alone to do it； said it might be good for him。 But Daddy had e back with blood on his T…shirt and a sick smell about him。 And while Trev huddled in the hotel bed with his arms around his brother and his face buried in Didi's soft hair； Daddy had put his head in Momma's lap and cried。
Not just a few tears either； the way he'd done when their old dog Flakey died back in Austin。 Big gulping； trembling sobs that turned his face bright red and made snot run out of his nose onto Momma's leg。 That was the way Didi cried when he was hurt or scared really bad。 But Didi was only three。 Daddy was thirty…five。
No； Trev didn't want to go back to New Orleans； and he didn't want Momma or Didi to be there either。 He wanted them all with him； going wherever they were going right now。 When they passed the sign that said MISSING MILE TOWN LIMITS； Trevor read it out loud。 He'd learned to read last year and was teaching Didi now。
〃Great；〃 said Daddy。 〃Fucking great。 We did better than miss the highway by a mile…we found the goddamn mile。〃 Trevor wanted to laugh； but Daddy didn't sound as if he were joking。 Momma didn't say anything at all； though Trev knew she had lived around here when she was a little girl his age。 He wondered if she was glad to be back。 He thought North Carolina was pretty； all the giant trees and green hills and long； curvy roads like black ribbons unwinding beneath the wheels of their Rambler。
Momma had told him about a place she remembered； though； something called the Devil's Tramping Ground。 Trevor hoped they wouldn't see it。 It was a round track in a field where no grass or flowers grew； where animals wouldn't go。 If you put trash or sticks in the circle at night； they would be gone hi the morning； as if a cloven hoof had kicked them out of its way and they had landed all the way down in hell。 Momma said it was supposed to be the place where the Devil walked round and round all night； plotting his evil for the next day。
（〃That's right； teach them the fucking Christian dichotomy； poison their brains；〃 Daddy had said； and Momma had flipped him The Bird。 For a long time Trevor had thought The Bird was something like the peace sign…it meant you liked Charlie Parker； maybe…and he had gone around happily flipping people off until Momma explained it to him。）
But Trevor couldn't blame even the Devil for wanting to live around here。 He thought it was the prettiest place he had ever seen。
Now they were driving through the town。 The buildings looked old； but not scary like the ones in New Orleans。 Most of these were built of wood； which gave them a soft…edged； friendly look。 He saw an