Leaving paradise is sad. I sat on the plane with my new wife as our honeymoon had come to an end. Usually, out of the country trips are fun but coming home usually is a good feeling. This time, I really didn’t want to leave the white coral beaches behind. The only consolation was that I was sitting next to my beautiful wife. Being just over six feet tall, she makes the usual statement about being annoyed at the constant lack of leg room on planes. I make the usual reply about how I’m average height, so the world is made for people like me.

The last passengers boarded the plane and were finding their seats. The thought of being home was slowly becoming appealing or at least not so bad, like knowing you have to go to the dentist but remembering they give you your favorite kind of toothpaste. Just a matter of minutes before we would be all set for take-off.

A stewardess was working her way back my way. Stopping at the emergency row, she began verbally confirming with the occupants that they accept the responsibilities of sitting in the emergency row. Standard flight procedure. She received yes after yes until at last was the old man sitting in the aisle seat. “Nope,” he replied. This was the first time I’d really noticed him. He wore a cabbie hat and had dark ear hair that was visible from two rows back.

“Sir, are you saying that you’d rather not be seated in this row?” asked the stewardess.

“Not with those kinda stakes,” he grumbled.

The older female voice, presumably his wife’s, next to him seemed to not like the answer. “Whaddya mean those kinds of stakes?” she questioned in a Brooklyn accent.

Before that moment, I’d never actually heard of someone turning down the emergency row before. “What do you mean, you don’t understand?” the old man asked. “In an emergency, I don’t want people looking up to me for…for anything. I’m 78, why do I need that stress in my life?”

The stewardess choked down a laugh. “Of all the times we’ve flown, how many involved emergencies?” hissed his wife.

“Listen, I paid for a ticket, not a…a promotion to Life Saver over here,” the old man declared. “Why do they even say you paid for seats, you only rent them for a couple of hours! They coulda given me any seat. I didn’t ask for this one!” I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh too loudly.

“Just say yes so we can take-off,” insisted his wife.

“Whaddya want me ta do, play God? Get outta here with that,” he waved his hand dismissively.

The more he was questioned, the more defensive the old man got. Finally, the stewardess asked everyone nearby if someone would be willing to trade seats. My wife stood up immediately with an eager smile, “I’ll switch with him!”

She squeezed out of the row and the old man squeezed into the seat next to me. He buckled in and glanced out the window. “My wife actually wanted more leg room,” I offered, trying to lighten the mood. “This worked out perfectly.”

His ancient face looked back into mine. “After fifty-nine years of marriage, sometimes you just don’t want to sit next to your wife,” he said with a wink.

I couldn’t help laughing at that. Going through all of that theater just because you wanted some alone time was something I’d never have the courage to do. Who knows, maybe in 50 years I’ll feel differently.