The Hall

I wrote this story after an evening trying different foods in NY. Describing the sensations of eating the foods and setting this experience in an unlikeable place with an obsessed character seemed interesting to me.

• Short story
• Fiction

								
                                           THE HALL

Flavorr. A spices company is the one successful business in this small stupid town. The company’s plantation is far from the center as well as their factory but it is still close enough for them to have to pay taxes. To be honest you don’t know exactly where it is but it is there. The various spices are produced and sold all around but no one in town works there except maybe the loners from the same block as the house. Everyone here only buys their spices; the few tourists that come to this end of the world say the food tastes special because of them.

All people care about is that one random Sunday when a letter from the company arrived in every house with an invitation to that address. But now just an announcement is made, on posters and in the newspaper since it has become almost a town tradition. Other than that, ask anyone in town, no one knows anything about Flavorr. How can they think so little about the company that keeps the city running? It is a small town full of stupid people who simply accept an easy reality and own its advantages as if there is such a thing. Yet what the company does and why doesn’t matter. Right now you don’t care either and that’s your reality.

Why should anyone even care about a spice company? Every year, the response is The Hall. It is an event where all who live in town are invited to be amazed by the best cultural experience ever, hosted in a unique historical mansion owned by the company. 

The house is in town, it is the last thing you can see before the “come back soon” sign. People say it had been abandoned for ages before the company arrived and no one is sure about when the renovations started or if there was any, although nothing drastically changed since for most of the year the house is still empty. The mansion itself doesn’t look much from the outside other than old; it is a three-floor building made of red bricks except for the facade which is painted white along with Greek pillars that hold a triangular roof, and a balcony on the second floor with a view to the front of the house; all windows and doors from the outside are olive green but the main doors are big and white like the ones that hold heaven behind them. The mansion was so large that it was enough to fit the whole town.  Inside the warm sunset orange color on the walls stretches distances from your left to right in contrast with the white ceiling and a vinyl floor. The grand salon occupies most of the house and is where all is happening.

Where who you are doesn't matter only who you want to be, it is the type of thing that you await all year long, you save money and pre-order your clothes months before, it is the only topic you ever talk about with anyone in this town, the motivation you have to be a better person, the reason why you are always searching for information around town, maybe someday you can meet the owner. Unlike all the fools in this place, he will appreciate your dedication to dressing and behaving as this party deserves and become the first VIP guest.  

You anxiously expect that party every year because it is known for traditional apparel and performances, music, and the most exquisite international food. For this year you are extra excited to wear the special handmade beige suit that may be simple but will contrast with the small pink sunglasses and new Oxford shoes. However this year, your hair decided to not collaborate because your dark-boring hair didn't supplement the clothes or your personality of this year, a rich young man with a polished sense of style, so you dyed your hair blond because this year you are going to stand out in the crowd.

You are not a foodie or an art appreciator but there is something about the fantastical atmosphere of that place that makes you feel differently. The lighting against the walls makes the room warmer and involves you like a hug, and it's as stunning as the twilight. Soft music plays as you walk in and every time you have the impression it's the same melody, but you don't know, if the musicians play it as a welcome or if it is the harmony your mind plays to add to that unreal place. The unique smell that fills your lungs as you take a deep breath. The scent of a mix of spices. Even though you buy their spices and use them daily in your kitchen, nothing compares to that rich aroma, all varieties of food being prepared and served, combining to that one remarkable smell. You start having short breaths, and have your first look at the party.

Waiters dressed in costumes representing the country of the food they are serving, such as a girl serving quesadillas with a Dia de los Muertos makeup, and a guy serving truffle french fries wearing a cap and a striped apron; colorful decorations as international flags pennant banners hanging on the walls over the stands that serve drinks from that country; on the ceiling Chinese lights, and confetti all over the floor as if the party that had began before all arrive. Every single time it always keeps that feeling of a fantasyland. That image makes you gasp every time. 

The people you know but can't recognize because they buy expensive clothes and try their best to look apart, all look wealthy and influential. You have the power to blend in there; you can be anyone or someone for the evening, and you can simply rewrite yourself for six hours. The laughter, the music, walking, dancing—the room seems to move as you stand helpless, admiring the surroundings. This is not a party; it's a waking dream.

While walking inside the event you see in a hidden corner the stair that leads to the third floor; and remember that yesterday when passing by, you noticed for the first time a beautiful window at the back top of the house. On those previous occasions you simply forgot about it, or put it aside since it’s not part of the magic and no one goes up there. But for some reason, you thought of seeing someone up there the day before, which keeps bothering you. How? Why? Was that loner from the house across? Not knowing makes you sick. Why would someone have the privilege to go up there and you don't, at least tonight you choose to be important enough to be granted that chance.

With a racing heart, you walk past the stairs, enter the crowd again, and sit somewhere with a good view of everything. You are first served dumplings by a guy in a traditional Chinese costume with a funny hat that makes you giggle because it covers half of his face. As the Chinese sauce that is on the point of your tongue is spicy then down to your throat you can feel the heat as you swallow the soft dumplings filled with a chicken soup that explodes flavor in your mouth but also burns with the species. Who wouldn’t love to taste something like this? To be in a place as amusing?

The heavy beat of a drum banging breaks the feeling and you start to get annoyed as that sound keeps echoing in your head. You start to give light and frantic pats on the thigh with your left hand. But you turn your attention to the beautiful flower-shaped mango ice cream offered on your right by a funny-looking guy with a floral shirt and such a big nose you wonder if it's fake. The ice cream hurts your teeth at the first bite the mango flavor melts on your tongue and the cold on your palate makes you make a sour face as you eat it, you enjoy every bite and then you can't feel your tongue for a few moments after you finish the ice cream, and then you decide it would simply feel differently if you were walking under the sun because it would keep you cool for fresh moments before the heat of the day finds you again. 

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