Our first box apartment in Brooklyn holds a lot of memories

And so we are leaving The Box... and while we are going somewhere much nicer we will miss this tiny place, writes Holly Baxter

A little part of our lives is forever suspended in a studio on Bergen (Getty/iStock)

I write this instalment surrounded by boxes, cat paraphernalia and the unique accoutrements necessary for New York apartments (spring-loaded “no drill” curtain rods; air conditioning unit insulation materials; a bar we’d attached to the roof as a makeshift piece of gym equipment; a pair of “anti-cockroach” slippers.) This week, we are finally leaving The Box and moving into a much nicer apartment, thanks to the fleeing of the rich from NYC during the pandemic. We couldn’t be more excited.

This tiny little slice of Brooklyn holds a lot of memories for us. When we moved in on 1 April 2020, we assumed lockdown was going to last a couple of weeks. We wore scarves around our faces and winter gloves because shops had run out of surgical masks and plastic gloves; we cleaned with lemon juice and vinegar because Target was bereft of antibacterial wipes, and we guarded our 18-roll stack of toilet paper jealousy, carefully rationing every square. We moved in with two boxes of stockpiled pandemic supplies: dry pasta, rice, tins and beans, and waved goodbye to our neighbours on the opposite stoop. Over the next month, we watched the police arrive and take away the basketball hoop in the park opposite so teens wouldn’t gather to play during one of the strictest lockdowns in the world.

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