Last year, the West Haven High School Choir performed the Phillip Silvey song “900 Miles.” It appears to take place in the early-twentieth century. The song’s lyrics create a scene in the early days of the American railroad. The mysterious piece has fascinated me ever since I learned it during my sophomore year, so I wrote a short story about it. I hope that you enjoy my interpretation of this poetic wonder of a song.
“I am walking on this track, I’ve got tears in my eyes. I’m tryin’ to read a letter from my home.”
The past few days have been cold and unforgiving. I had never ventured out so far away from my home before. I clutched a tattered, tear-spotted paper and tried to focus on its words. The moonlight illuminated each letter on the page. I was met with the warmth and familiarity of my mother’s cursive writing. The message was out of concern for my well-being on this endless journey that I’ve been on. I haven’t been able to contact my family in days. I tried to mentally what I was going to tell them when they ask of my findings on this journey. Was I to be frank about this harsh trek, or was I to humor them with pretty lies? Suddenly, a train charged and then halted in front of me. I boarded the train, unable to ignore the fact that the freezing, sleepless night ahead of me was going to feel like an eternity.
“And if that train runs me right, I’ll be home Saturday night, ‘cause I’m 900 miles from my home.”
The bare trees outside of the window mixed into a sepia blur. I grew exhausted, but my eyes flew open with every periodic halting of the train. With each stop, a flood of travelers spilled into the train. I became just one simple stranger in a crowded train cart. I was not alone, but I was lonely, alright.
“And I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow. That long, lonesome train whistling down.”
The deafening train whistle repetitively pierced the thick silence. Time seemed to repeat itself in a perpetual loop that I could never escape from. I felt like I was doomed to stay in this loop forever, while others, one by one, kept leaving me for their stops. I grew lonelier and lonelier with each screech of that maddening whistle.
“Well, this train I ride on is a hundred coaches long, you can hear her whistle blow a million miles. And if that train runs me right, I’ll be home Saturday night, ‘cause I’m 900 miles from my home.”
Eventually, the gentle swaying of the train lulled me into a drowsy state. I had to sleep at some point if I was going to be on that extensive train for that long. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just nod off. It must have been from that lousy whistle, I swear that you could hear that thing from a million miles away. I was shocked that I had not gone deaf yet from it, but frankly, losing my hearing would have freed me from the torments of that lonesome whistle.
And I hate to hear that lonesome whistle blow. That long, lonesome train whistling down…
Thank you for reading this short story! If you would like to sing songs like the one that the story is based off of, feel free to join the West Haven High School Chorus!
