将汽车倒进停车位,我便急步走向写着“住院部”的灰楼。四月底了,天空又飞荡起柳絮,一朵朵,一团团,像满天雪花。登上二楼,我提着沉甸甸的礼品袋进了209。细细找找,六张病床上几位老人或坐或卧,认不出哪个是我的老师,按20年前老师留在我脑海中的影像去辨认,哪一位也无相像之处。 When I dropped the car into a parking space, I quickly went to the gray building where I wrote the “inpatient department.” At the end of April, the sky fluttered from the catkins, blossoming, and lingering like a snowflake. On the second floor, I entered the 209 with a heavy gift bag. Looking carefully, several old people on six beds were either sitting or lying, and they couldn’t recognize which one was my teacher. I recognized the image that the teacher left in my mind 20 years ago. Which one has no similar place.