I sat crying in front of a receptionist in pink scrubs. No. Crying isn’t the right word. Crying is something you do at the end of a sad movie.
Ineligible by Michael David Todorovich
Category: Essays
An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
Where Houses Once Stood by Carina Sitkus
They’re beautiful; they’re old. Some are abandoned. They all have a story I wish I knew. I’m always tempted to step inside.
Holding the Plank by Craig Reinbold
I grew up wearing Husky-brand jeans. I once cried to my mom that I was the fattest kid in the third grade.
Radical Chic by John Picard
The Georgetown apartment was full of liberals with deep pockets. It was Washington D.C.’s version of “Radical Chic.”
Red Rabbit by Robert W. Fieseler
He was waiting for the streetcar and seemed familiar to me because I’d dreamt about someone like him the night before.
Where Do You Go From Alston Street? by Kat Moore
Peanut hands me three white pills. She says it will help. She says better than nothing. … she says this is my needle, don’t set yours down, I got AIDS.
Holiness of a Garden by Amanda Lightner
A few months after our wedding, Trevor and I moved to a small, red brick parsonage beside a small, red brick church built in 1873.
Lesson Plans by Anita Gill
On your first day in your new job as an adjunct professor, give out an assignment. Call it a diagnostic essay.
Lighting of the Figures by Emily Urness
She flings open my bedroom door with so much gusto it rattles the hinges. This is the first time since I’ve moved back that she hasn’t knocked.
Without You by Milena Nigam
In 1982, my parents divorce, and my mom, sister, and I move to a small house in West Concord, at the time a working class town twenty miles west of Boston. I am eight years old.
