The flatbed of a 1998 Chevrolet rumbles down Main Street in Lisbon, 22 feet of steel and wood shaking beneath a mass of purple-painted seniors. Four hay bales are scattered for seating. Most stand anyway. In the truck bed, three boys sprawl in foldable lawn chairs, legs dangling, facing their classmates. Students balance against each other, palms pressed to shoulders, laughter spilling out between bass drops from the Walmart-branded Onn speaker in the middle. The aroma of burnt rubber fills the air.
It’s Homecoming Week in Lisbon, a tradition that takes over the town of less than 2,400 people every fall. Parades and parties bring generations outside for one noisy, messy, joyful celebration. On this Wednesday, Oct. 1, the senior class of 2026 is soaking in their final one. Earlier, they won the powderpuff flag football game. Girls as players, guys as coaches. Just minutes ago, they ran wild on the field. Now, they’re taking to the streets.
Chase McFarlane, a shirtless senior in a jester hat, runs the music in the middle. They all dance, wobbly, as the unwalled Uber rolls past familiar houses. Former teachers step outside to wave from their porches.
After a few blocks, the sweaty passengers scramble off the moving vehicle, sprinting into the warm October night before climbing back up again.
“That’s just caravanning,” senior Elliott Moehlman said. “It’s every year. For as long as I can remember, people get out and run.”
It’s a strange tradition, somewhere between parade and protest. The cops know about it. So do the neighbors. Most wave or record with their phones. Others punch numbers on a glowing keypad, threatening a call to the authorities. One officer eventually pulls up by a pond a couple blocks from the school. But he’s not there to scold, only to laugh and wave the students on. “You guys are all good,” he tells them. “Just don’t jump in the water.”
Hours earlier, the party began on Walmer Field. Four powderpuff flag football teams took the stage: freshmen in orange, sophomores in pink, juniors in yellow, and seniors in purple. Wednesday night lights. Some of the students stitched together outfits from Goodwill. Others relied on Amazon. Freshman Lucas Curtis pointed to his neon orange jumpsuit with pride.
“It came at 4:15 this morning,” he said. “Without the overnight delivery, I’d have been stuck with a random T-shirt.”
A mix of family, faculty, and classmates trickle into the bleachers. The school nurse, Julie Light, is running the PA system. Teachers-turned-referees carried whistles onto the field below, often turning a blind eye as flag football became something closer to tackle. Senior coach Nathan Ahrendsen wore a purple suit with the matching tie strung around his head. He carried a megaphone for sideline communication. The girls painted stars on their faces, wearing purple leg sleeves and socks to match.
The first game was underway. Seniors versus freshmen. Fast. Physical. And never close. With the help of an MVP performance from senior Alexa Roos, including a pick-six, the seniors stomped the freshman 16-6.
“We didn’t score a single point in our first two years,” senior Alina Mallie said after the win. “This felt pretty good.”
It wasn’t just the seniors making noise. In the week leading up to the game, the hallways at Lisbon High were thick with smack talk. Juniors promised domination.
“They’re going down,” junior player Ava Ahrendsen said. “They need an ego check.”
The sophomores fired back.
“The juniors are very toxic,” sophomore coach Kasston Jimmison said. “We were ready for them this year.”
And they were. In a surprise 6-0 overtime win, the sophomores stunned their older rivals, leaving the juniors speechless. The championship stage was set. Seniors pitted against sophomores.
The caravan continues to roam Lisbon’s streets. In the driver’s seat, amongst scattered boxes of Casey’s food and tape measurers, Brock Baltes grips the wheel of his K3500 Dually. Instead of a truck’s normal two rear wheels, a dually has four. More wheels, more support for the crazed seniors who dance on the back. “Speed it up Chopper!” some of them yell.
His nickname. And his license plate. The entire senior class has nicknames, too. All 53 of them. They’re printed in purple ink on the back of their black class shirts.
Behind this beast of a vehicle, another truck follows. Headlights bright, music absent. It holds mainly the underclassmen, the same sophomores who once had hope. Even after putting up a fight, the team of pink hopefuls sulk on the truck bed after their Cinderella run was cut short.
A shutout for the seniors sealed this championship game. 14-0. Fourteen decisive points for the purple powderpuff pummelers. The team who had not scored in their first two years outscored opponents 30-6 on Wednesday night.
The scoreboard briefly blinked all zeroes. Then it changed. Where the timestamp would normally be, four new numbers appeared: 2026. The seniors, fingernails caked with mud and legs with grass stains, sprinted to take pictures around the track. Jordin McFarlane, twin sister of Chase and one of the game’s stars, threw her arms in the air.
“I scored a touchdown!” she shouted. “I can graduate now!”
Empty asphalt stretches before a dwindled number of purple bodies. They stand, exhausted, under the dim lights of the school’s parking lot. The night is over. The caravan drivers have gone home. Echoes of the homecoming parade’s drumline have long since vanished, the cool autumn air carrying the faint scent of popcorn and nostalgia. This small group holds the memory of it all. Standing in a semicircle, they exchange final laughs.
“We won’t forget this,” McFarlane says, looking at his friends.
In less than a year, they’ll have put on graduation caps and left this parking lot for good. But on this night, they are here, soaking it in. Just a few seniors, victorious and spent, the night theirs alone.
