Jem taught me lots of things before he left. He taught me easy things and hard things; he taught me things I didn't want to learn and some things that I did.
The first time we met he taught me that he was dying. He was quick to enlighten me on the fact that you shouldn't always comment on what you see. Some words are best left unspoken, and if someone looks ill, you shouldn't tell them. They might be, but they'll tell you in their own time if they wish for you to know.
Not long after that he taught me how to throw a knife. He watched me struggle for a while before commenting on my grip and aim and stance, and when I refused to listen to his instructions he came up behind me, placed one hand on my shoulder and another on top of my own gripping the weapon, and forced me to obey. He breathed the directions again against my cheek as he guided my hand into the correct position and supervised my next throw. It hit the ring just outside the bull's-eye, a first for me.
Jem also taught me about opium. I'd heard of the drug before, and that the effects could be lethal, but I'd always figured I'd try it one day, just to see. I didn't think I could get hurt, at least not like that. But when Jem showed me the powder and the gray streaks in his hair and the way he sometimes coughed up blood without even noticing, I changed my mind.
He taught me about Shanghai, too. I'd never been anywhere but Wales and London, never ventured outside the safety of the places I'd always known, and China seemed so distant. Though Jem spoke of it as though it were Ireland or France: somewhere close and safe and not too different from our own world. He told me about candy and games and spoke words in a language I had never heard before. He called it Mandarin, and I have no idea what he said to me in it, but it was beautiful.
Jem wanted to teach me how to play music, but I never cared too much to learn how, so I watched him play instead, and he taught me about music. He told me what each note was and how he placed his fingers so that his violin would create it. He taught me that not all music comes from instruments, and that it could be found all around us in nature and in words, and I believed him. I liked to watch him play. I liked it a lot.
He taught me the stars. He taught me that each one had a name and a place and a purpose and that if you looked at certain ones in certain ways, they made pictures. He pointed out his favorite, Draco, the dragon, because it reminded him of home. He taught me that shooting stars gave you a wish, only if you promised not to tell. He gripped my hand in his own as we lay in the damp grass one night, our bodies in opposite directions, our heads close together, and he pointed out the North Star, the brightest of all. He told me that the constellation Perseus was made especially for me because he was just like me, and when I didn't understand he told me that Perseus was a handsome Greek hero who killed monsters as well as I killed demons.
He taught me what it felt like to touch another person, feel their skin on my own without the fear of hurting them. He taught me how to feel without touching as well. He taught me to feel with my heart and that a look can say a lot more than you think. He taught me to smile and laugh and even cry when I felt like I needed it because he would still be there when I was finished. He taught me to shout poems and scream silly songs and dance in the rain with him sometimes.
Jem also taught me what it was like to love when I thought I'd forgotten how. After leaving my family, I'd never allowed myself to become too close to anyone, but Jem was different. Jem had a way of seeping in past the walls I'd put up without my realizing it until it was too late, and he taught me that it was okay.
Jem said there was more to living than not dying, and I never knew the true meaning of that until I knew the true meaning of Jem. Before him, all my life revolved around was keeping people alive, and even when I first became his friend I determined my life to revolve around prolonging his however much I could. But when I finally saw him for what he was I realized that there are more important things than life and death. There are things like music and stars and words that can't be spoken, only felt, in a way that reminds me of how I am able to feel him.
Jem taught me many things before he left, and now that he's gone I am less likely to forget them than I've ever been. I hold onto each word, commit it to memory because I can never find enough ink to write it all down, or a safe place to keep it all where I'll never lose it. I'd give anything in the world to feel his breath on my skin one more time as he presses his lips to my ear and tells me that I am worth everything.
But I cannot have that any more than I can have any of the other impossible things he used to promise me I'd find if only I looked hard enough. Sometimes, though, on especially clear nights, I take Tessa out on the steps and cover her hand with my own and point out the stars that are Draco and Perseus, and I try to make her understand it exactly as Jem told me. She just smiles at me and tucks herself in at my side, kisses my cheek and tells me she loves me because she will never truly see the stars as I saw them, or as Jem did. But that's okay. Everyone sees them in their own way, and I've still got a lot to teach her.