If you don't like the 'f' word, don't read this fic and get out of this category because you obviously haven't seen the movie.
A/N: I can't believe I had to ask to create this category myself! This is such an awesome movie! If you've seen it, please write about it so that my poor little fic doesn't get lonely.
We're studying it in English at school (there have been some funny incidents involving the word 'fuck' and the school inspectors) and we've studied every relationship imaginable, except Dwayne and Grandpa. So I explored Dwayne (because he's is soo gorgeous, I mean personality-wise, though Paul Dano's not bad) and his relationship with Grandpa. I think some of the sentiments in this fic are really quite cute.
The hazard with studying films in English is that this movie now has so much more depth to me than just a comedy. Anyway. So, this is Dwayne's POV of the time in the van when Grandpa starts quizzing him on... on what Grandpa likes best. Enjoy!
The first thing he noticed was how noisy everyone was. They must have always been like that, only he hadn't noticed when he was one of them, just like they didn't seem able to hear just how loud they were being, as though his sudden silence had oversensitised his ears.
The second thing he noticed was the sense of innate calm that he felt when he was outside the noise and the bustle, as though a bubble of silence surrounded him and only through it could he see just how ridiculous all the hurry was.
His third notion was how comfortable he felt being silent. He'd thought he'd find it difficult to stop speaking, but it seemed so natural to him. He'd never had much to say anyway, or felt free to say it when he did; so the vow of silence seemed like the automatic next step. He was sure, 9 months on, that it was easier to survive his family if he could do it silently.
Like now. The humming and clunking of the bus pressed down on him. Constant noise surrounded him: the complaints of the old yellow minibus, the faint beat from Olive's headphones – and Grandpa.
Grandpa was the one thing that ever made him want to talk. He could see the irony, if he wasn't too annoyed, in the fact that he only wanted to be able to talk so that he could tell Grandpa to shut up.
Dimly, he realised that Grandpa's incessant buzz of talk was directed at him. He emerged from the depths of his mind to listen.
"Dwayne – that's your name, right? Dwayne?" He nodded, like he did every time Grandpa asked him his name, which was far too often for a grandfather. "You want some advice, kid?"
He didn't, not from Grandpa. "Well, I'm gunna tell you anyway." He had expected this, and found himself trying not to smile. Smiling wasn't something he felt like doing much, either. Except when Grandpa was around.
"Fuck a lot of women, Dwayne," Grandpa said sincerely. He turned an incredulous eye on him. "Not just one woman. A lot of women." He tried not to laugh, then wondered why he was holding it in; what harm would a laugh do him?
Dignity, he decided as Grandpa drew breath to start again. "I see no reason to lie to you, Dwayne. Fuck a lot -"
"Dad!" He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as his father attempted to draw Grandpa's attention away, no doubt thinking of Olive rather than him; his father only cared about him when he could use him to illustrate one of his own points. One of his failed '9 steps' program to 'transform losers into winners'. There was irony in that, too: his father was so intent on his program to make everyone else a winner that he couldn't see how much of a loser he was.
His whole family was ironic, really. His mother claimed to value truth and honesty above everything else whenever Olive was concerned, but she lied to his father about smoking. "I'm not smoking," she would say, seemingly unaware that on the other end of the phone they could hear the steady drag and exhalation that couldn't possibly be anything else. "I'm not!" Olive wanted to be Little Miss Sunshine. Well, she was his sunshine in a dark world, but the people in that stupid pageant would take one look at her and laugh.
He saw himself as different. He would sit there in his silence while the rest of them bustled around him uselessly, like a rock in the middle of a raging river, still and unchanging while they rushed past. In his slow, philosophical mind, the only thing that connected him to them was his name.
Even that was ironic. Hoover. Hoovers were supposed to clean things up. His family seemed to leave a trail of destruction behind them everywhere they went. As Grandpa turned his bloodshot eye and foul mouth on his father, he looked out the window and allowed himself a small smile. Grandpa was usually the one responsible for the mess they left behind them. He caught a line of conversation: "So pull the fucking bus over, Richard, you can't shut me up!"
His smile grew slightly, then vanished as Grandpa reached out and hit him on the arm. "Are you getting any?"
What? What kind of question was that to a grandson? He was only 16, barely legally able to 'get some'. He looked at Grandpa, trying to put disgust into the look, but his face wasn't made for disgust.
Fuck Grandpa. He shook his head quickly, hoping that his parents wouldn't see.
"What!?" yelled Grandpa, making Uncle Frank in front of them jump in his seat. "None?" He cringed as his mother looked around, a smile on her face. "You're what, fifteen, and you're not getting any?" His father tried to interject again, but Grandpa didn't stop; he could feel his face colouring. It was a sensitive subject, he supposed disconnectedly, because even if he found someone that didn't bore or annoy him stupid, there was no way that they would like him enough to...
"You're missing out on that young stuff, man! That young stuff is the best stuff in your life! Are you listening to me, kid?" He nodded slowly, even though he was trying not to listen as Grandpa went running on. He had a very piercing voice. "Are you sure you're listening? Is it going in anywhere?" Grandpa made him sound like a machine, or an alien, or some foreign creature that didn't work like a normal human. People seemed to do that to him a lot. Fuck them. As Grandpa's quizzing continued, he reached into his pocket for his notepad to say something scating, or defensive; he wasn't sure which.
"Don't show me the pad, kid! I don't want to see the fucking pad!"
He put it away again, but Grandpa's high, intrusive voice carried on. He cursed himself for leaving his book locked in the trunk, where it was no good to anybody. As his father resumed fighting the losing battle to talk over Grandpa, he stared out of the window and let their noise wah over him, and comforted himself with his silence once more.
A/N: Ok so weak ending. Pssh. Come up with your own one then. And put it up here. Review PLEASE because I already feel sorry enough for this fic being in a sub-category all by itself, without it being all by itself without reviews.
I heart Dwayne, in case you can't tell. I'm inspired to take a vow of silence myself, just for a day or something. Just to see what it's like. I'll tell you, I promise, if I do.
-For you!