Right now I'm doing the exact route I took when I first got out of prison. Same walk, same buses, same pressure. And back then, if I didn't make it back to the halfway house on time — this was just being late — they could send me right back to prison.
It's 5:10 pm. My boss asked me to stay late, and I have to get back by 6:30 pm. And I am stressing out because I might not make it.
The Walk
This part seems simple. It's just a walk. But when you're wearing an ankle monitor, when someone else owns your time, walking feels different. Every red light feels personal. Every slow walker in front of you becomes an obstacle. Every minute matters. I wasn't scared of work. I was scared of not getting back.
The Bus Ride
I have 35 minutes. With an ankle monitor, Houston traffic doesn't care whether I violate. For years I had cars — nice cars, money — used to going where I wanted. Then I came home from prison and my transportation was a bus pass, with no money in my pocket other than the $300 gate money the prison gives you. The halfway house gives everyone a bus pass until they receive their first paycheck, then you have to pay your own bus fare.
This part seems simple. It's just a bus ride. But wearing an ankle monitor — like someone else owns your time — walking and riding feels different. Every red light feels personal. Every bit of traffic becomes an obstacle. Every minute matters. This is the worst part. Just waiting.
In prison, waiting is different. You wait for count, you wait for chow, you wait for mail, you wait for medical. But out here, waiting feels different because everything is moving. If this bus is late, it doesn't matter that it's not my fault. They don't care whose fault it is. The question is simple: did you make it back or not?
Freedom Means Making It to the Next Checkpoint
I used to think freedom meant doing whatever I wanted. But now it's about making it to the next checkpoint. Get to work, do your job, don't complain, get back. Pass the drug test, answer the phone, charge the monitor, don't miss a call, don't miss a bus, don't be late.
Structure saved me, but at first it felt like another sentence. This is where things can go bad because there's traffic right now. So I'm sitting here doing math in my head like my life depends on it — because in a way it does.
It's 6:00. Back then, I would be thinking, do I call the halfway house now or do I wait? If I call too early, it looks like I'm making excuses. If I call too late, do they think I'm hiding something? Now, the bus driver isn't even driving. He's standing and doing something. I am stressing out.
Still waiting for the driver to move.
The Halfway House — Run by a Private Company
The halfway house is supposed to help you transition. And it does. But it also reminds you every day that you're not trusted yet. You don't just get to say, "I'm going home." You have to be accounted for.
A lot of people don't understand this part. When you leave federal prison and go to a halfway house, most of the time you're not walking into some government building run by the BOP. A lot of these places are run by private companies under contract with the BOP. The one I went to was GEO — the GEO Group. GEO is not some small re-entry charity. GEO is a massive private company that makes money in the correctional world: prisons, detention centers, electronic monitoring, halfway houses. They're part of the business side of incarceration. So when I got out, I wasn't just dealing with freedom. I was dealing with a private company under federal contract enforcing federal rules, reporting back to the BOP.
Three Things You Need Before You Can Work
They'll let you work. They start moving you towards home confinement. But before they let you start working, you have to have three things:
- A driver's license
- Your social security card
- Your birth certificate
So it's really important to start getting these documents before you're released. Contact the Social Security Administration and order a copy of your birth certificate.
Why the Halfway House Is Stricter Than Prison
The halfway house controls your movement, your schedule, when you can leave, where you can go, how long you can be gone, and what happens if you mess up. They're more strict than the COs in prison. Why? Number one is they have the security guard mentality — they think they're a federal officer when they're not. And two, because they have to be. In prison, you're surrounded by razor wire. Now you're back in the community, and after being locked up for years, you have to earn the trust slowly. For many, the temptation to resume criminal behaviors is overwhelming.
This Bus Ride Was Compliance. This Was Custody.
So this bus ride wasn't just transportation. It was compliance, custody. This was me proving every day that I could follow the rules. And if the bus was late, GEO didn't care about the Houston traffic.
The monitor changes how you see the world. That monitor was a reminder that I was still property of the system. I can be on a public bus surrounded by normal people going home from work, but I was not normal yet. People were going home — I was reporting back. You could be standing in public dressed normal, going to work, doing everything right, but you know you're still being tracked. You know one mistake can put you right back in prison.
And honestly, I needed that structure. I didn't like it, but I needed it.
My Stop
Bus announcement: Sanchez Hotel at Fidelity. Sanchez Hotel at Preston Kennedy.
Oh, this is my stop.
I can finally breathe a little. Not completely, but a little. Because if I was walking this stretch, that means I probably made it. This is where the pressure ended for the day. Not freedom — just the end of that day's test. In the morning, I have to do the same thing again. This is how close it was every time. Because if I missed one bus, that was it.
One Missed Bus
One missed bus. Wow, this brings back a lot of emotion. It brings back a lot of memories. Come on. There it is. There's the halfway house. Across the parking lot. And right now, it's almost 6:20 pm.
I was late two times, but I called them. And they said if I was late a third time, they would send me back. And at the time, I didn't have any money to take an Uber. That same house is there. This was kind of weird — I don't know. It's right next to the freeway, and it's just some random house on blocks. It's supposed to be some historic thing. But I'm not going to walk all the way there. But that's Lidel. Same door I walked through right there. So I made it — right across the street from what was the Minute Maid Center. I guess now it's called Daikin Park.
The Little Things Matter
If you or someone you love is coming home from federal prison, understand this: the little things matter. Transportation matters. Timing matters. Communication. A job. Humility.
Because one missed bus can result in one bad report, and one bad report can mean returned to custody.
If you need help, you can reach me at thehighcost.com.