GRINDIN’

I didn't really know what my parents did until a few months ago,
the terminology of construction worker a familiar
answer I've housed beneath my tongue.
On a car ride home once though,
my dad elaborated on the giant air conditioners
in buildings they’ve helped install.
H-V-A-C mija, I remember him telling me,
defining the acronym of his job,
hanging the letters up in walls of my mind,
decoration for future greetings
I could remark upon.

My parents wake up at five in the morning
to grind everyday out.
Ironing out their neon shirts
that’ll enter the washer at the end of the day
full of soot and insulation,
and shaking out their faded jeans
before lumbering into their exhausted ancient vehicle
driving unpredictable minutes and hours to their
never guaranteed job.

They've worked all over,
At universities close and far away from home,
hot shot hospitals,
And big business buildings.
Summers, they come home with shirts stained to their ends
in sweat,
hair clinging to the back of their necks,
hands already stretching towards their shoes
to relieve their feet
Of the burning inferno of grade A safety boots.

I think a lot about city I live in, that carries
markers of my parents' work. Of the
college applications sitting on my desk,
the halls my parents walked through
to work so that I could walk them later to learn.
I think about the ghost of my parents labor
lingering in the freshness of the air that cools my body
when I step into a building.
Of the men and women with brown skin
that looks like mine
that heated up during long hours
to help me stay cool.

Gracias, I tell the air.
Que dios te bendiga, I tell the artificial wind.
When I see my parents, I hug them,
kiss their hands and rub their shoulders,
the love of my actions carrying all I cannot say.

Sooner or later I’ll be talking with a stranger,
listing my hobbies on a whim
and spilling my dreams out like water.
When they inevitably ask me what my parents do,
the term HVAC mechanic will gurgle its way out of my mouth,
existing proudly in the spaces between.

Haile Espín is a Mexican-American writer from NC. She has been previously published in Apricity Magazine, Blue Marble Review, Valiant Scribe, Azahares, and elsewhere.