We aren’t expecting that. But as we sit in an endless line of stopped cars, the question floats to us from a young fellow sitting in the back seat of a car facing the other direction. Both lanes are jammed, a collective of carloads of trapped strangers. My husband and I are discussing how long we might be stuck here when the question hits our ears. Looking to our left, we see the source.

Questions run through my mind. Is he kidding? Is he being rude? Is he making fun of

how old we are compared to him?

Then he adds, “Do you know who they are?”

Well, yeah. They were crooning songs on our parents’ record players as we grew up, we say.

Our new friend goes on, “How about The Righteous Brothers. Do you like them?”

We used to dance to their music at junior high dances, I tell him.

He shares his favorite of their songs is “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,” then adds he’s still trying to get his wife excited about their music.

“Well, maybe she’s lost that loving feeling,” I quip.

Laughter peals from both him and her. Then traffic moves a car length and we say goodbye to people we’ll never see again, people who might remain permanently in our memory.

Awakened by that exchange, we study the next carload. A single guy on his phone.

Nope. The carload after him is a family of grumpy looking parents and tired looking kids. I think “Nope,” but my husband speaks up. “Hey, do you know why there’s so much traffic here?”

The dad brightens up to deliver the unhappy news, “We’re all getting out of a motocross competition.”

Oh. And we blundered into it because we’re lost.

That’s our luck.

And yet … the next carload is a double date of teens who want to know who we are, what we do for a living, how many kids we have. We ask them how they met, where they’re going next, and if any future dates might happen with them. Their responses are quick and giggly and hilarious. I really hate to see them move on.

As we crawl our way through the rest of the snarled traffic, we say hello to several more carloads. Some look at us like we’re crazy or annoying. But most actually respond.

I’ve pondered what that means. A few possibilities emerge. When we’re bored or trapped, we’re more likely to engage, to align. Perhaps we’re curious. Or lonely. Or want to be entertained because why not?

Or maybe, just maybe, we naturally want to connect.

We see it in other kinds of lines. Strangers in checkout lines at the grocery store often align because it’s a familiar space, we have time on our hands, we’re stuck there. And every now and then, some kindness comes from it–strangers helping strangers.

I witnessed stunning alignment once when my husband and I were standing in a line waiting to get aboard a cruise ship for a weeklong vacation. We felt like cattle in a chute.

Most everyone was isolated in worried thoughts: Where did I put my passport? I hope my cabin’s view is decent. Did I lock the garage door? I wonder how soon we can get to the buffet.

Then this jovial, boisterous fellow whose big voice had been rumbling around in the background broke through as he hollered, “Hey! Who’s excited to go to the Bahamas?!”

Shocked silence reigned as the same thought dashed through all our brains: I’m not going to the Bahamas! Am I getting on the wrong ship?

Then cheerleader guy hollered, “Just kidding! Who’s excited to see Mazatlán?”

And everyone exhaled, laughed, and aligned, united first by mutual fear, then by mutual relief. For the entire trip I noticed that fellow was always surrounded by a happy crowd.

It seems a new friend is often just one unshy question away, one reaching out effort, one bridging of a perceived divide. Perhaps we humans naturally would rather be friends than strangers. \

Perhaps our world wants … needs … more aligning.

Perhaps we’d rather align than be alone.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.