A volunteer's notebook · AHope Day Center, Asheville

What the Belt
Measures

It's one of the most common things the men ask me down below: do you have any belts. We rarely do. It took me a while to understand what the question was really measuring.

Where this happens

I volunteer at AHope, the day center that is part of Homeward Bound. The staff call it the basement, because that's what it is. I call it "down below." Either way it's the lower level, where the donated clothing is sorted and handed out. What follows is a small thing that happens there, over and over, and what I finally made of it.

THE ASK Do you have any belts

A belt is one of the most common things the men ask me for down below, and it's one of the things we almost never have. It's a commodity item down there. The minute a usable one comes in it's gone, the way anything useful and durable goes. So most days the honest answer is no, sorry, not today.

Early on, if I happened to have one on, I'd just take mine off and hand it over. It was always accepted graciously. I want to be clear that there was nothing noble in it. It wasn't generosity so much as the belt I happened to be wearing, and a man in front of me who needed one more than I did. I did that a handful of times before I noticed I was starting to run low on belts myself.

AT HOME My version of the story

When I told my wife about it, I'd laugh and say it was karma. I'd put on some weight, my pants had been "shrinking," and apparently the universe had finally found a use for the belt I no longer entirely needed. It was a good line. I got a couple of weeks out of it at the dinner table.

My shrinking pants, it turned out, were serving a purpose.

Then it stopped being a line and started being the thing I actually thought about on the drive home.

THE TURN Why a man needs a belt he doesn't own

Yes, a belt is a small thing. I'm not going to pretend a strip of leather is the center of anyone's hardship. But I did start paying attention to why so many of these men needed a belt they didn't already have, and the answer sits in two parts, stacked on top of each other.

The first part is the clothes. They're donated, which means they were sized for whoever gave them up, not for the man wearing them now. You take what comes in your general direction and you make it work. A waistband that fit the donor rarely fits you.

The second part is the body underneath the clothes, and this is the one that stayed with me. Out here food is not a given. It comes in stretches, with gaps in between, and a body that misses enough meals gets thinner whether the man wanted to lose the weight or not. Pants that hang fine on a fed man hang off a hungry one. The belt is just what closes the difference so he can walk out the door with his pants up.

I may be reading more into it than a man asking for a belt intends. But I don't think I'm reading it wrong.

THE QUESTION So what is it really measuring

My pants got tighter because I eat too well. Theirs got looser because they don't eat enough. Same garment, same notch on the same kind of belt, telling two stories that could not be further apart. That's the part the joke was hiding from me.

So I keep coming back to the question. When a man down below asks me for a belt, what is the belt really measuring? It isn't measuring his waist. It's measuring the distance between the size of what we give and the size of the people we hand it to. It's measuring weeks of skipped meals, marked off one tightened notch at a time. It's measuring how much of homelessness is just plain hunger wearing somebody else's clothes.

The point

A belt is the cheapest scale in the building.

We give clothes because we have them and because it feels like helping, and it is. But a closet full of donations is not the same as a full plate, and the belt is where the gap between the two shows up. The clothes come in the donor's size. The body comes in the size that not eating made it. The man stands in the middle holding his pants up.

I hardly wear a belt myself anymore, partly because I'm still too fluffy for the ones I've got, which is a problem of mine and a lot less serious than theirs. That's not the lesson. The lesson is what the asking measures. Donated clothes are generous and they are needed. They are also not food, and they are not a door that locks. If we want to do something about why a grown man needs a belt he doesn't own, we feed him, and we house him. The belt only tells us how far we still have to go.