“My whole life flashed before my eyes, because I didn’t know what to do with the echo. They hadn’t prepared me for this. Paralyzed—my big moment.” Should he copy the other trumpet player’s mistake or embarrass him by contradicting what he’d played? Warren was undone. The scene scalded itself permanently into his memory—except for what he did next. Years later, which course he followed—assuming he played any note at all—had become a blank. He had learned a lesson: It might seem easier to go through life as the echo—but only until the other guy plays a wrong note.
