Kurt's wardrobe doesn't only have designer clothes.
He had some other things in it.
A music box, that plays a haunting tune.
There's nothing in it, but dust.
Sometimes he takes it out, and listens to the melody run.
Then he winds it up and puts it back, ready for the next time.
A photo album, from ages 5 to 6.
The beginning is full of pictures of a five year old Kurt, and his family, each with a little note marking the date and occasion.
As the pictures go on, there is a slight difference. His hair darkens, he is a bit taller.
But the most noticeable difference is that his mother seldom appears.
When she does, she is pale and tired.
Then the photos cut off, suddenly, in the middle of the year.
A tape.
It has bedtime songs on it.
His mother made it for him, copying them from a tape she rented in the library.
The last track has no tune. It is his mother, singing pure and clear.
It is at the back of the cupboard, in a small shoebox.
It is never touched.
And a single piece of paper.
On it is a note.
Dear Kurt,
Your father and I are gone for a walk. We will be back by 2 o clock. There is food in the kitchen for you, and if there is trouble, go to next doors.
It is in a poly-pocket.
And it has small blotches on it.
Places where water fell.
Places where tears fell.