Losing II

I was four, maybe five. I was "helping" my parents do grocery shopping. Truth is: they didn't want to leave me with the neighbors while they were out. Don't ask why. My "help" was basically to stay put in the toys section of the supermarket, I guess they weren't worried about men stealing little girls (I wonder if they worry now). But, of course, I wouldn't, and my brother, barely one year older than me, later was heard saying: "what, am I the guardian of my sister?", mom answered, "well, but of course, she is a girl". -Do you think he still feels guilty? After all, I got lost.
I wandered away from the dolls and the pretty colors; and skulked behind a tall shelf, with a book in my hands. Time passed by. My parents, busy with their own stuff, shopping, the horrible financial crisis, and a supermarket full of families, forgot I was with them. They grabbed my brother, thought, well, that's it, let's go. One of the security guys of the supermarket found me, asked where were my parents. I said shopping. Somebody called my name from the speakers. I was grabbed and yelled at. They were already heading home when they remembered I was still back there.
That was, as far as I remember, the first time I got lost.
Not even knowing it. Somebody lost me. Like I was a thing, without will. Where do we go when somebody loses us?
In which alternate universe we hide when somebody is desperately looking for us, nowhere to find us, and they feel their chests struggling to breath, anxious?. And we, the lost ones, are just there, standing just across the street, just behind a windowpane. We might as well be in another universe.